One Moment
by WackyGoofball
Summary: Jaime and Brienne are on their way home after the dinner. Life goes just the right direction, but it takes just one moment to undo all good. Their lives are turned upside-down when they get mugged, leaving Jaime to cope with a great loss he doesn't know how to deal with, and Brienne likewise, seeing him suffer through it. But will they? Dark Modern AU. Trauma. Dramatic love.
1. One Moment

**Author's Note** : Hello everyone! Thanks for joining me in my shameless JB fangirling!

So... I don't know how that story came into my mind. Maybe I've written too much fluff these past few days and now need drama, dramatic drama, sprinkled with angst and darkness. I don't know.

I don't know where I will take this just yet - and this is the second Modern AU fic I ever wrote, so I'm still kinda getting used to that.

I don't know what other characters I will add either.

Uh... oh yes, this is un-beta'd. I'm still no native - and I haven't read the books. Just so that you're warned.

I hope you'll enjoy anyway ;)

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 **Disclaimer** : You know that I don't own anything.

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Jaime and Brienne are walking down the streets at night, the moon shining dimly on them to paint them a silvery kind of blue that makes Brienne's eyes spark even more than they do by nature.

"Tyrion surely didn't promise too much when he said that the restaurant is good," Jaime says with a grin. "That pasta was probably the best I've ever eaten."

"Yes, it was really good," she agrees. "So I think it was the perfect place to celebrate your promotion."

Brienne could still burst in pride for Jaime having earned the promotion to Assistant Commissioner at the police station. No one thought that he would be so good, well, other than Brienne, of course. She knows just how outstanding he is. She went with him to the shooting range often enough - and has wrestled and fought with him in gyms even more often.

All took him for no more than a rich boy who just didn't want to please his father by refusing to take over his company, chasing guns and glory, but Jaime has skills to match his apparently very big ego.

At some point Brienne still asks herself if she shouldn't have followed through with it and become a police officer as well, but she is happy with her job nevertheless – and never regretted the choice. After all, she owes Renly so much that words won't ever be enough to describe it. So it seemed almost natural for her to take the job offer to work in his law office as the security manager. Not to mention that she got to flip someone over only last month, after the man had smuggled a weapon inside. So she has a police officer-like life. And that is good enough for her.

"In fact," Jaime grins. They enter one of the alleyways, the moonlight disappearing from their features because of the large buildings shielding them from the sky's natural source of light. Suddenly, everything is painted pitch black, even dousing the blue flame in Brienne's eyes.

"Is that the right way?" Brienne frowns.

"Maybe we should have taken a taxi after all," Jaime grimaces. They decided against it after there was no single taxi to flag down for ten minutes, and the taxi service was seemingly overloaded because of a festival downtown, which means that lots of drunk people want to be brought home to kiss the porcelain.

"Oh, wait, I recognise the building over there, we are on the right track," Brienne says, pointing ahead.

"You are actually the one counterexample to the stereotype that women have no good sense of direction," Jaime chuckles. "I think you could find our apartment blindfolded."

"You and your fantasies. I told you that I'm not into that kind of stuff," she argues, knowing the implication.

"You haven't tried it yet," Jaime grins darkly. "I thought you're a gambler at heart?"

"Gambler at heart, but no fool in mind," Brienne tells him. "Or do you take me for a fool?"

"I wouldn't ever dare. You knocked that bit of sense into me _long_ time ago," he huffs.

"Good, just keep that in mind," she snorts. "Or else I will have to knock the sense into you again."

"Ah, or I knock it out of you once we get home, wench," Jaime smirks. Brienne shoves him lightly, which only makes him laugh harder.

That will always be the thing between them – fight.

Brienne chuckles softly at last. She long since forgot about taking offence in him calling her "wench". In fact, it grew to be her strange kind of nickname, after that has been what Jaime called her all the while in the beginning of their… _relationship_ , because at first, they wanted each other dead. Now, it is just an echo of familiarity – and something people still tend to frown upon, though neither one really cares.

At some point, Brienne and Jaime pride themselves with _not_ meeting social expectations.

"Oh, and by the way, we will have a huge Lannister family dinner soon, and no, you don't get to feign a flu," Jaime smiles.

And family dinners of the Lannister clan tend to be huge, especially if they are about something bigger, which will be the case, he knows, but for that, Brienne has to suffer through it as well.

"Oh, please no, your Father doesn't like me, at all," Brienne grunts.

"He likes you better than my previous girlfriends," Jaime argues.

"You mean the dumb geese who just looked pretty?" Brienne snorts. "Those top model chicks?"

"Those, right," Jaime chuckles. "But hey, I told you often enough that they were just the gap-fillers until I met you."

"How can you say that with a straight face?" Brienne snorts.

"I have no clue," Jaime shrugs. "I'm a good liar, I guess?"

"Well, better than me anyways," Brienne says.

"Right, you're a terrible liar," Jaime sighs. "Though that makes you the better person of us two."

"With you, that's not at all so difficult," Brienne snorts.

"Oh, that hurt!" Jaime cries out.

"You know that you deserve it," she huffs.

"But that also means that I deserve you because you give me so much wonderful pain," Jaime grins.

"That was not as smooth as you thought it was," Brienne rolls her eyes, well, Jaime knows she does, though he can't see a thing in the darkness.

"It was smoother than what I tried to hit on you for the first time," Jaime argues. "You see, I have learned since. To think back to…"

A gunshot kills any thought or word he ever had on the tip of his tongue. Jaime holds on to Brienne's arm out of reflex, cursing at himself that he left his gun at home.

He'll be the joke over at the police department.

A cop without his gun gets mugged, for laughing out loud.

"No one moves," a voice rings out from the darkness.

"Hey, if it's money you want, we will give it to you," Jaime says, knowing better than to fight back with what appears to be a whole band of heavily armed folks. Jaime can spot at least five, though it might be even more.

That this happens to him shortly after his promotion must be a wink of fate… or rather misfortune.

"You keep your hands right where I can see them," the leader snarls.

"Okay, okay. Look, we don't want this to escalate in any way. Just tell us what you want," Jaime says, keeping his voice levelled, hoping sincerely that his lady won't decide to play hero.

Because she is reckless enough for it.

"Get the bitch," the leader says, and at once things go from nervous tension to chaos. Jaime feels Brienne being ripped away from him. She shrieks in surprise once, but after that she growls like a cheetah, survival instinct kicking in. Jaime means to move in her direction, but as he tries to lunge, a muscular arm punches him right in the gut, knocking the air out of him.

"Jaime!"

Jaime blinks, trying to see anything, but he sees nothing. Absolutely nothing. He only hears Brienne kick and punch, but then there is the sound of a safety catch being unlocked. And at once he can hear her stop moving, only breathing hard.

"Let her go!" he growls once he can speak again.

And why the Seven Hells is there no one to hear them and call his goddamn colleagues?!

"Now, now, what fun would that be? We should get to know each other better," one of them says.

"Let us go!" Brienne growls, though the men seem unimpressed.

"I think you should shut up," the man speaks up again. Jaime can hear the air being knocked out of Brienne and he barks some curses, but then a man shrieks, though not the leader, "The bitch bit me!"

 _Of course_ she would, Jaime can't help but think.

"That bitch's fight for sure," the leader says. "I've never seen one like it."

"Do you want to fight me?" Brienne challenges.

"Brienne!" Jaime barks. That is not the right time to pick a fight. They are outnumbered and they have guns. Now is the time to simply let them have what they want – and hope that it's not their lives they want.

However, that is when he hears something he did not at all expect.

"I'll take the big bitch first. When she's good and wet, you lot can finish her off," the leader then says.

Jaime's world tilts sideways, though he can't tell the direction in the darkness.

Brienne starts to kick and punch despite the gun against her head, but punches are delivered to her the same way.

"Let her go!" Jaime shrieks again, fighting against the men holding him, punching him.

Where are his colleagues?

Why is this like in the damned cheap cop dramas?

"Brienne!"

"Jaime!"

Brienne tries her best to keep them away from her, but she stands not much of a chance against two to three men with guns. She can feel her dress tear, can feel rough hands leaving bruises on her body.

This is happening.

How is this happening?!

"Hey! Hey! I'm rich, alright? Whatever money you want, you can get it from me! One walk to the bank and you are so rich that you won't have to work for just one more day. Trust me! Just let her go! Just let her go!" Jaime cries out.

Suddenly a torch goes on, the blue light falling on Brienne like a spotlight, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears and terror, her nose bloody, her dress in tatters. Jaime means to bark at them again, but that is when he is punched in the back, forcing him to his knees.

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

"How about we make you watch the show? Would you like that, rich boy? Hey, maybe we will let you fuck her from behind once we're done with her, hm?" the leader grins at Jaime, though Jaime still can't see his face. And those he can see in the light of the torch wear ski masks. A bunch of mummed men, really, this is too much out of the movies.

"Please, just, just let her go," Jaime finds himself begging. He doesn't really care if it's pathetic. He just sees the desperation in her eyes – and knows the same to be in his.

He just has to get her out of this situation.

"I'm rich. You can have my money. Just let her go. Take my money. Take my money, but let her go," Jaime repeats frantically.

"Ah, so that's it. You think you can buy yourself out of the situation, rich boy," the leader sneers.

"Look, if you have something against me, then fine, but leave her out of this," Jaime tries to bargain.

"Get the bitch on her knees. She's too tall to fuck like that. Never been with a woman that big," the leader says. Jaime can hear him stepping away from him, but his eyes are on Brienne as they kick her legs so her knees give way and bite into the pavement, surely drawing blood.

"Stop! Just stop!" Jaime curses.

"You don't tell me what to do," the leader says, nodding at one of his men to punch Jaime repeatedly.

"Leave him alone!" Brienne cries out, which only earns her a few more punches to make her shut up.

"Don't move, rich boy. It's not your turn yet, so just keep your pretty mouth shut until we are done with her," the leader says. Jaime can see him stepping over to Brienne, and that is when something snaps inside his head, rages out of control. Jaime kicks and punches around blindly. He manages to wrestle free and lunges forward, to Brienne, somewhere closer to her. His hand is only inches from her forearm, but that is when someone rams his boot into his right arm. Jaime shrieks as his bones cry at the impact of the blow.

"Jaime!"

"I gave you a command, rich boy. And I think it was simple enough. Don't move and wait until it's your turn," the leader says, turning around to him. "And you moved. That's not what I said. You have to listen carefully."

Jaime breathes hard through his nose, blowing the sweaty strands out of his face.

"I can only repeat it. Let her go and you get all the money you want," Jaime says, through gritted teeth.

"When will you finally get it that I don't care about your bloody money?" the leader says.

"Then what do you want instead? I'll give it to you, alright?" Jaime asks. "I'll give it to you."

"No, no, you get me wrong. I don't need you to _give_ it to me. I'll just _take_ it," the leader says. "Because there are things that money can't buy. Like a big bitch screaming and crying as she gets fucked like a real woman for once, and a rich boy realising that money won't save either her or him."

Jaime means to say something in turn, but that is when he can hear sirens in the distance, and for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, he thinks fortune will be on their side at last, as the leader growls, "Let the bitch go. We won't have the time to make the fuck worth it."

Jaime lets a breath he has been holding in ages, but that is when he hears a gun moving, "But for _that_ we still have time."

A gunshot rings out.

One moment, there is pain.

And the next moment… just darkness.


	2. Epic Irony

Jaime pries his eyes open slowly, frowning at the sudden white light hurting his eyes. There was no white light back when...

Wait, what happened?

The last thing Jaime remembers is… what is the last thing he remembers?

Jaime goes it through inside his head, goes one step back at a time.

Darkness.

Pain.

A gunshot.

Mummed men.

A torn dress.

Brienne's blue eyes in the torchlight.

Oh damn!

"Brie? Brie?!"

At last a room comes into focus, white edges along what is likely the ceiling as Jaime keeps blinking, but that is when a shadow moves into his periphery.

And then sapphire blue.

"Jaime?"

He blinks repeatedly, the contours becoming more and more solid, until he can see Brienne looming above him. And just like the contours become clearer, the cuts on her cheek, the forming bruises, the split lip, the dried blood under her nose almost scream back at him, right in his eyes.

Those fuckers.

He wants to run his hand across her cheek, needing to feel her to ground himself, to make sure that this is not just some dream, but his arm feels numb.

Why is his hand so numb?

He can't feel his hand.

Well, maybe the boot on his arm did more damage than he thought, but that is when he feels her cold hands pressing against his forearm. So he does feel something.

"Jaime, you have to stay calm now, alright? I'm not kidding. You _have_ to stay calm," she says in a firm voice. Her sapphires blink at him, her eyes surprisingly steady, though it shouldn't surprise him. Brienne is calmest in situations of chaos.

"What happened?" Jaime asks.

"There was this gang…," she begins.

"I know it all up to the point when the bastard said that they'd still have time for something or so. But what happened _after_ that?" Jaime questions, now in a more demanding tone.

What if they did more to her after darkness claimed him?

What if they…

"Did they _touch_ you?" he asks.

"No, no," she tells him, shaking her head. "It didn't go any further."

Thank the Gods.

Thank the Gods.

Thank the Gods.

Thank the Gods.

Thank the Gods.

Thank the Gods.

Thank the Gods.

Seven times for each of them.

Jaime wouldn't know what he would have done, had they… no, just no.

"Police came. Someone heard the gunshot they fired to startle us. When they heard the sirens, the bastards knew they had to get away, but before they went…," Brienne bites her lower lip, but then gathers herself.

She has to be steady now.

She has to be strong.

She has to.

Has to.

Has to.

And Brienne she goes on in a steady, strong voice, "The leader shot you in the hand before they ran away. You were brought to hospital. You had lost a lot of blood, because it did damage to the artery. The problem was that it was a large calibre weapon fired only from inches away. Jaime, they had to remove your right hand. There was no way to save it."

Jaime wants to laugh for a moment. She must play a terrible joke at his expenses, because he can feel his hand, it's…

But Brienne can't lie.

Jaime looks to the side, to her hands on his forearm… and his forearm alone.

No hand.

And that even though he can feel it.

He swears by the Gods that he can feel it.

Just that it isn't there.

And all Jaime can do is…

Laugh.

He laughs, louder and louder. He giggles to the point that he feels lightheaded.

Oh, the irony.

The epic irony is so epic that it leaves him with nothing but the joke that he is now.

He is a joke.

This is a joke.

This is… this is reality, and that is the punchline.

At last, the laughter dies out, leaving him almost coughing up the last bubbles of giggling until the reality rains down on him again.

Because the epic irony is that this is reality.

He looks at Brienne again, who just looks back at him, one hand firmly on his forearm.

"So… are there any other ground-breaking news that I should know about?" he asks between gulps of air, black dots dancing before his eyes.

"You need to know just two things," Brienne tells him in a dark, strong voice.

"Which are?" he grimaces.

"That I promise you that we will find the guys responsible," she says, her voice so full of determination that Jaime can feel the hairs of his arms standing upright.

"And the other?" he asks numbly.

"That I love you, no matter what."

Jaime lets his head sink down on the pillow.

At some point the tears just come, though he keeps his eyes firmly set on the ceiling. And even though Jaime doesn't find the words to say it, he is glad to have Brienne sitting next to him silently, a steady grip on his arm.

Though he can't help but note bitterly that usually, she would have held his hand.

So Jaime allows the tears to come, knowing that she will be the last one to see it as a shame, because it is a shame to him.

It is a shame that he fell victim to the epic irony of reality.

And that this is no longer a laughing matter.

That he has no laughter left.


	3. Coming Home

**Author's Note** : Thanks for sticking around!

Brienne opens the door to their apartment, shouldering Jaime's duffel bag from the hospital stay. At last he was released, and Brienne can't say just _how_ glad she is.

She hates hospitals, ever since a child. While she spent a good share there due to being _more_ than a wild child that broke more than one bone, it is a place she links to something much more horrific than her broken bones, sprained ankles, scraped knees, gashes, cuts, and bruises:

That is where her mother passed away, though she can't remember her face.

That is where her little sisters passed away, and that even though they were barely in this world before being ripped out of it again.

That is where Galladon was brought, his young, lean body, as though it was made of wax, cold and wet from the water they got him from, but not in time.

And that is where she almost lost Jaime, too.

Brienne tenses her shoulders to keep the cold sensation out of her muscles as she walks on to the bedroom to place the duffel bag on the bed.

"That's a lot of flowers," she can hear Jaime say from the living room.

Jaime spoke little these past few days, and Brienne hence talked little, too.

Because she doesn't want to end up saying the wrong things.

Brienne has never been good with words. The only thing she is good at is taking action.

But she doesn't want to push him.

She doesn't know what is going on inside of him.

At some point Brienne hates herself for being that bad at reading people. Because maybe if she could read him, she could help better, but Brienne doesn't know what lies beyond Jaime's eyes, at least these days. It's as though there suddenly was a wall, and she is unable to climb it.

Brienne walks back into the living room, "Yes. I told them to send them here instead of the hospital. I already guessed the department and the Lannister clan would send… a lot. And I feared it'd get crowded in the hospital room."

It has been a bit of an in-and-out, especially in the beginning. Of course Jaime's family was at the hospital within a few hours' time. Tyrion was close to tears, though he tried to hide it, until they knew for certain that Jaime would pull through. Tywin was his old usual cold self, but Brienne saw the edge of worry for his son, and not just his Empire, at least she hopes she read correctly. Cersei came in only the next day, because she had been abroad. When it dawned on her that Jaime lost his hand, she was very quick about getting away from the hospital, now out of shame or simple incapability of dealing with the situation. Not that Brienne was sad about that. Cersei is the last thing Jaime needs at this point. And the last thing she needs, too. Tyrion did his best to support them, though Jaime was rather distant to his younger brother, too, which is a novelty, really, because he and Tyrion were always very close.

But then again, the doctor said that this was to be expected and that this is part of the process Jaime is going through.

And Tyrion is the last one to ever hold it against him, so all know.

"I bet that monstrosity over there is from my Father," Jaime huffs, nodding at a giant flower bouquet right beneath the window. "Did it arrive with a parade, I wonder?"

"None that I saw," Brienne replies numbly.

"Well, maybe that's over now that the golden boy is no longer _that_ golden," Jaime snorts bitterly. "I guess that Cersei rose in his ranking significantly."

"I _don't_ think so," Brienne replies in a small voice. "Can I… can I get you anything?"

"Only if you have a new hand by any chance," Jaime snorts.

Brienne chews on her lower lip, "Alright."

"Brienne, I… I'm sorry," Jaime grimaces. He doesn't want to snap at her, he really doesn't. But whenever he opens his mouth, sarcasm pools from his tongue like acid.

"It's as I said, it's alright," Brienne argues. "I understand."

"Do you? Because _I_ don't," Jaime exhales.

Brienne makes a face. No, she doesn't really understand _what_ it must be like for him right now, she just understands _that_ he feels like punching and kicking, and Brienne knows that she can take it.

She is strong.

She has dealt with worse before.

Far worse.

"Tyrion asked if it'd be alright to come by some time," Brienne goes on.

"He _asks_? That surely means the situation is bad," Jaime huffs. "Normally, he just pops up on our doorsteps and drinks up our wine deposits… but, _oh_. Almost forgot, none of this is normal."

No, it's abnormal, like this hand, or no, pardon, _stump_ is.

"Your colleagues have called, too," Brienne goes on.

"Well, they are hardly my colleagues anymore, that is unless they hire cripples from now on," Jaime huffs.

"They are still your colleagues. They don't stop to care about you only because of an injury," Brienne argues in a faint voice.

"You might be right. Then maybe we should go with _former_ colleagues. That sounds valid enough," Jaime shrugs.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Brienne asks. "I mean, it's… I don't know. I… I'm at a loss."

"Welcome to my world," Jaime snorts, but then offers a sympathetic, apologetic smile, "But don't mind me. I'm just… in a foul mood. I bet that will pass… in the next couple of years, that is unless I suffer from the kind of amnesia that can make you forget that you miss a hand."

Brienne just looks at him and says nothing.

And Jaime hates himself that he just ended up delivering a jab to her that was intended for himself.

He really should talk less, or else he will only end up pouring more acid over her.

"I think I need a shower. I stink of… hospital and dead people," Jaime grunts, though he honestly fears that this is actually _his_ smell after all.

Because he feels like a corpse, a walking corpse with just one hand.

"Do you need…?" Brienne asks.

"I think I will manage on my own," Jaime says in a flat voice. "I will likely cry out like a madman in case something is up."

"Just make sure that you keep the wound dry, the doctor said…," Brienne means to say, but Jaime holds up his good hand jerkily. "I know what the doctor said. This should actually be no bother. I had broken arms before, and was supposed to keep the cast dry. It's not much different, is it? Or well, it is, but… the movements are almost the same."

He trots off into the bathroom. Brienne sits down on the couch, her entire body as tight as a longbow's string pulled back until it doesn't give way anymore. She pricks her ears, hears Jaime undress, hears him curse as he does, hears him growl, kick the clothes through the bathroom, then play around with the faucets for much longer than he used to, and then water running and him stepping in. Brienne forces the breath out of her lungs slowly, leaning her head back, closing her eyes.

No tears.

He is here, he lives. That's all that matters.

But no tears.

Tears are for the weak.

And she is strong.

He is strong.

They are stronger than this.

Jaime lets out a sigh once he steps out of the bathroom. Showering itself wouldn't have been so difficult, had he been smart enough to open the shampoo bottle before it was all slippery, which meant a wrestle with the shampoo, almost like the infamous bar of soap plopping out of people's hands in the shower in any third degree comedy. And undressing proves to be much easier than dressing up, especially if your body is still damp and the clothes stick to your skin as though you were wearing tight tights. Maybe he will walk around in sweatpants for the rest of his days, though Jaime reckons that it won't bother much.

His life is almost over.

His right hand is gone, by the Gods.

He was this hand, and now he is… just nothing.

At least that is what it feels like, as though he was a blank slate, an empty space, as though they poured him out as he had bled out in the street.

Jaime exits the bathroom to see Brienne hunched over on the couch, apparently having fallen asleep. Jaime rounds the couch to sit down next to her, as carefully as he can not to rouse her.

That's right.

He almost forgot.

She is still here, in that blank slate, the only filler.

The only thing that matters.

Even though Jaime reckons that it won't be for her best, because he knows that he won't change his attitude any time soon, because he has no control over this.

That is what the ambush taught him: That they have no control over anything. The world just starts to laugh at your face and takes your hand, and there is nothing you can do but to endure the pain, breathe through the agony, and likely sneer back at the world and show it the finger.

Jaime looks at Brienne again. She still looks like crap, not that he looks any better. The bruises are still healing, now varying shades of green, violet, and yellow, the cut on her cheek and on her lip are black now, almost like moles. There are dark rings under her eyes, after she's been flying back and forth between the apartment and the hospital to be there for him. She probably slept about as many hours as he did during his first night there.

Brienne is really too good for him.

Too good to get lost in a blank space.

Out of reflex, Jaime wants to brush the few loose strands out of Brienne's face, only to realise that there is no hand to do it with, and the other still to clumsy that he fears he'd poke one of her beautiful blue eyes out.

So Jaime keeps his hand in his lap and tries to forget about his ghost hand, slides down in his seat next to her, and drifts off to dreamless sleep, face to her, touching her only with his mind.


	4. The Walking Dead

"Okay, I'm heading out to work, then. Do you have everything?" Brienne asks, shouldering her bag. She is still a little, or no, a lot unsure about heading out for work. She stayed home at first, since Jaime needed a lot of assistance, even for the most basic tasks of life, which proved to be a true challenge for Brienne.

She is awkward, and before all this happened, it didn't really bother, because Jaime was not... as much. He knew her cues, he knew her awkward ways of offering a hand, of offering comfort, but now it's all different because he doesn't want to ask for her help, doesn't want help because he wants to do things alone, like he used to, and Brienne has to overcome her anxieties to offer it, and sometimes even force herself upon him. She is accustomed to wordlessly doing chores or small favours, not to telling people to let her do something for them, or assist. But now she _has_ to ask, or else she'd give Jaime the feeling that she belittles him and assumes that he is unable of doing it by himself.

But Jaime still fails at most of the tasks. It starts with getting dressed. Jeans are a no go these days, which is why he mostly sticks to sweatpants. Button-up shirts are equally much a pain. And even the waistband of the sweatpants still gives him beads of sweat on his forehead. It goes on with having to pour drinks with his other hand, though he uses his right arm out of reflex, and often ends up knocking things over. It goes further on to eating certain things being a real pain in the arse, which is why steak and the like are off the menu for a long while. Then there is the issue of shaving. Brienne waited until the third cry from the bathroom until she took the razor from him and told him that she'd do it, after she wiped the bloody streaks away. There is the issue that he can't sleep with his right hand propped up under his chin when he lies on the side. There is the issue of him tumbling out of bed because he forgets that he has to use his stump now. There is the issue that he has to hold books very awkwardly in his lap, constantly losing his page. There is the issue of holding forks and using knives. There is the issue of not being able to type text messages without throwing a tantrum.

And those issues repeat themselves, unfold themselves, each day more, forming a more and more solid vicious cycle.

So yes, Brienne would rather stay home to make sure that he is alright, but she has to work, and as selfish as it may be, she also _needs_ to work, if only to get a small breather from running up against a wall she cannot climb no matter how much of a run-up she takes.

And she feels terrible for even considering that, but Brienne feels trapped in her inability, and that is nothing she is used to.

She is used to people telling her that she can't do certain things - and proving them wrong.

She is not used to simply being unable to do certain things, and be it the easy task of helping her partner through such a low.

Because this should be easy, right?

It's hard on Jaime, so she should support him no matter what. That is what she promised him, but at some point Brienne fears that she is reaching her limits already.

So yes, she needs a breather.

"We have Netflix and candy, what else could man possibly ever want?" Jaime snorts.

"If something's up, just give me a call, alright?" Brienne goes on.

"Oh, yes, in case your dearest can't open a jar of pickles," Jaime huffs.

Gods, does he hate himself.

But then again, what do the Gods care, huh?

If they take his hand, they are likely not very much concerned about his self-hate either.

"I wanted to bring Chinese tonight when I get home. I don't know how you feel about it, but…," Brienne says, biting her lower lip.

"Oh, I wonder how I will handle chopsticks. Maybe I'll poke my eye out with one. Now imagine that. Then I can get an eyepatch and a hook and pretend that I'm a pirate," Jaime can't help but laugh, but then stops himself, offering an apologetic look. "Chinese is fine."

He has to stop acting like a little shit, if only he knew how.

Because Jaime really would like to stop, but the acid just keeps pouring out of him, no matter how much that pains his dear sapphires in turn.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out.

"It's alright," she replies automatically.

Just that it's not alright.

None of this is.

"I should be on my way. Love you."

"Love you."

And with that she flies out the door. Jaime sighs as he picks up the remote and starts to skim through the possible options as he lets himself plop down on the couch.

"Hm, _The Walking Dead_. Now if _that_ isn't irony."

Maybe they should cast him for the show.

Because that is what he is: Dead. Dead, but walking.

Done for.

Some zombie without the need to eat brains or whatever it is that zombies eat. Jaime never was into this genre.

To think that no month ago, he was that close to being Assistant Commissioner.

To think that he was that close to...

And now he is a walking corpse, a cursing walking corpse, who can seemingly do nothing but tear whoever he cares for down his grave along with him.

Maybe he should go with _The Addams Family_ instead.

A single walking-around hand in a world full of gloom and dark humour is apparently a lot closer to him than he would like it to be.

Well, he has a lot of free time from now on. So he can watch all those shows that suddenly relate to him in all the wrong ways.

It's not like there is much else left for him.

There is just Brienne.

And it seems like he'll draw her away from him soon enough, if he doesn't get a handle on the acid he pours.

Maybe he really should have died back in that street.

Because corpses seem not halfway as threatening as do the walking dead.

Because corpses don't come to haunt the living.


	5. Move

Jaime walks through the living room while Brienne is busy in the bathroom, getting ready for work.

How much he envies her for having a purpose.

His purpose is watching movies and TV shows, eating the fridge empty, being frustrated with himself, putting off probably everyone who cares about him, and failing at the easiest of tasks. That, and finding himself unable to stop being a bitch when around the one person who cares about him beyond reason, and whom he cares about to the point that it hurts even more being the one to cause her additional pain.

"Brienne?" he calls out, his frown deepening as he catches sight of something unfamiliar.

As an aside, he can't bring himself to call her 'wench' these days either, out of fear that the word will come out as an insult instead of a tease, an echo of familiarity, a nickname.

Which only proves that this is screwed-up beyond repair.

"Yes?" she calls from the bathroom.

"For what are these brochures on the coffee table?" Jaime asks in a rather demanding tone as he flips through the top one.

In fact, Brienne puts brochures _everywhere_ lately, as though they were Easter eggs. Brochures for takeaway services. Brochures for barbers. Brochures for physical therapy. A few for psychotherapy and trauma management. Mixed with some about sword fighting, fencing, and group meetings, like the AA, or the way Jaime understands, AC, Anonymous Cripples.

At some point Jaime reckons Brienne thinks she can communicate with him better through the brochures than with words… and Jaime can't say if she isn't right in the end, but he is too stubborn these days to take this too seriously.

Though these brochures are things he starts to take seriously, very seriously.

Because they go one step further in the non-verbal communication.

"Just read them once you find the time. They have some very interesting projects when it comes to prosthetics. There are even tests about artificial limbs you can move with a chip in the brain, something like that. I didn't finish all the material just yet. I bet your Father can get you in any program with a snap of his fingers," Brienne says.

"Oh, so you already talked to him about my new prosthetic?" Jaime growls. "I'm glad to be involved into the process, too!"

"What? No. I just meant to say that we can consider asking him – if you decide to join such a program," Brienne says, walking into the living room. She expected a harsh reaction, but Brienne didn't really care. She realised that something has to change about the situation, and she believed that offering Jaime a few perspectives would somehow break him out of his shell.

But of course not.

Jaime Lannister, foremost, is a bloody bullhead of a man.

"And what if I don't want such a thing?" Jaime questions in a dark voice.

"Then that is so, but sitting around won't fix anything either," Brienne quips.

"A prosthetic won't fix me either," he retorts angrily.

Even if they put the finest metal or silicon or whatever else over the stump, the stump will remain a stump. It won't grow to be a hand, his hand. His hand was cut off in the hospital, and no one asked him if he was alright with that.

"I didn't say that," she sighs.

"You implied it, though," Jaime insists, but she shakes her head vehemently, "That is _not_ true. You know I'm as bad with making implication as I am with lying. I just see that you don't do anything other than sitting around – and _that_ won't do you any good."

" _Sitting around_? I lost my _hand_ , Brienne! _Excuse_ me if I don't get back on the horse the very next day," Jaime barks like a dog that got kicked.

"It's been _two_ months since. Maybe it's time for you to look ahead again, you know," she tells him.

"Oh, so I hit the invisible mark that says that I'm now to move on with my life. Thanks for letting me know," Jaime huffs, feeling hurt.

"I just got some _brochures_ , by the Seven. It's not like I shoved you to see a doctor about the matter. I just brought some stupid brochures as an outlook. Because, foolishly, I thought you wanted to change something about the situation, but I was seemingly mistaken. You want things to go on as they do right now," Brienne shakes her head, but that only gets Jaime's anger flaring tenfold, "I don't _want_ any of this, alright?"

"Then want something again! Do something, get up!" Brienne cries out.

"Move on?" he lets out a strangled laughter.

"No, just _move_!" Brienne shrieks atop of her voice. Jaime looks at her, stunned.

"I don't say that you are healed or that a prosthetic would heal you. I don't say that you ought to act like your old self or so. You can curse at me all you want, you can yell at me, knock things off the table, or throw a tantrum. But something about this situation has to change, something about _you_ has to change, because you are destroying yourself, sitting here all alone and wallowing in… I don't know what you wallow in, because I don't know what's going inside your head. But in any case, I'm done sitting by and watching whatever it is happen. I tried my best, but you know me, I can't just sit still. So don't expect me to," she goes on, her voice shaking with so many emotions at once that her body feels as though it was on the verge of breaking apart under the pressure.

Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling nauseous.

"I'm ready to move if you're ready to move. So make up your mind," she says, grabbing her bag angrily. "I will be late tonight, so you'll have to see about dinner for yourself. Bye."

And with that she stomps to the front door and away. Jaime takes up the brochures, messily stuffs them against his chest, before he walks over to his nightstand, opens the drawer, tosses the brochures inside, and closes the drawer with a thud, biting back tears he is not willing to shed.

He is not yet ready to move on.

He is not yet ready to move.

Jaime sits down on the couch, staring at his stump, wanting to rip it off, wanting to cut it off, throw it away, and himself along with it.

Is this supposed to be their life from now on?

Is that all they worked for?

And how are you supposed to fix that?

Ever?


	6. Slightly

Things have been slightly improving, and 'slightly' is likely already an overstatement, or so Jaime reckons. Even though he and Brienne didn't talk about the prosthetics ever since the day she brought the brochures, they argued less, and Jaime _really_ made an effort to act less like an idiot and more like a rational being that is capable of dealing with its emotions again.

If he ever was.

At some point Jaime can't tell what was before the night that cost him more than he can take. It's as though everything was wiped out, or at least blurred out, leaving Jaime under the firm belief that he somehow died that night after all, and no one realised this just yet.

Jaime leans his head back on the bed, trying to forget about the hand no longer there, but whenever he does, the images return, the pain returns. Because to him, it still feels like it's there. Just this morning, Jaime wanted to pour Brienne and him a glass of juice. He wanted to grab the container and fill the glass, but only once the juice spilled across the kitchen counter did he realise that he has no hand to grip it, though he could feel it, he really did. To the fingertips that are no longer there.

Just that there is this ugly little stump now, where there used to be a hand to wield a gun with absolute expertise, a hand that didn't shake when he had the finger on the trigger, a hand that could break bones, noses, knock teeth out. A hand that could lift weights with little effort.

A hand that could lift up Brienne with small effort.

Just that everything is effort now.

What used to be effortless is now stuffed with effort, with work. Even buttoning a jeans brings beads of sweat to his forehead, just like his relationship to Brienne grew to be work. Because he has to work hard not to treat her like shit – because she doesn't deserve it, but acting like a brat is far too easy, and the only thing he finds himself in fact capable of. His sarcasm is his shield from all the fears he doesn't want to admit. And that again is more work. It's work to ask for her help, accept her help. It's hard work to force the apologies out of himself, only to hear that "it's alright" when in fact he knows it's not alright.

Because he knows it's not alright how he treats her.

She should just leave him in his misery, that'd be better for her. He hasn't been her a good partner, a good friend, a good lover ever since that mugging.

Jaime just fails in all the matters that… matter.

Because she does, even if he can't show it.

The young man whips his head around when Brienne comes into the room, towelling her hair, wearing only a black bra and not matching white panties.

A few months back, and Jaime would have been in the shower with her to make her scream his name against the glass of the shower. he would have made her scream his name like a prayer until her knees would no longer support her, only to hold her with his hands, because he could.

 _Now_ he only feels his member showing a reaction to something his body aches for, since they didn't have sex ever since the accident.

Not that Jaime lost his attraction for Brienne. In fact, he felt in the mood more than once. Already seeing her in panties made him hide his blush like a stupid teenager, aching to touch her, aching to have her, but the thought of Brienne being forced to touch that stump still nauseats him, when she used to hold on to a perfect hand, and a more than toned, trained body that could hold her without effort as she came undone.

"I just talked to Tyrion. He said your Father is preparing some family dinner. If you don't want to go, I'm supposed to let Tyrion know so that he can have your back on this," she says, running her hand over her neck.

Jaime still bypasses social interaction most of the time. He has visitors, but he rarely goes outside. And Brienne tries to accept that, because she doesn't know what is going on with him. That is always the problem. She can't read him. And Brienne reckons that she has been too bold, with the brochures and telling him to start moving again.

Brienne swore to herself right after his injury that she wouldn't ask too much of him, and at some point she fears that the brochures were asked too much, or at least too early.

It's just that Brienne is a person of action, and she thought Jaime was, too. After all, they used to be so very alike beneath the surface, with an oddly old sense of honour, an undying will to fight, and bullheadedness beyond reason. She thought that he just needed a push in the right direction to get his spirits up again, but that proved to be a fundamental mistake.

So Brienne probably just projected her character onto Jaime because she can't take his apparent behaviour and stasis.

This is so messed-up.

The problem is that she can't talk to him.

Because Jaime is her best friend.

And Brienne could really use her best friend's advice right now, to figure out how to deal with this situation with the required discretion and care she doesn't know how to handle without a general direction. Because Brienne is not good with words. Jaime was, is. He was always the one who could talk about matters straight-forwardly when she failed at the task miserably. Just like he was, is the one who can read people. Jaime just has to look at someone once to know that he or she is lying. That is what made him the great officer he was, and the smart man he is. But Brienne is not like him in that regard. She is blunt where he is sharp. She just knows that he hurts at the loss of his hand and that she has no clue how to fix that with anything else but the things she would do to fix it if she had lost a hand.

"I never thought my brother would become _such_ a wingman for me," Jaime huffs.

"Well, just let him know," Brienne shrugs. Jaime looks at her again, studies her features.

By the Gods, he misses holding her. In the dim moonlight, she truly looks glorious.

And seemingly, his member tends to agree.

He really feels like a stupid teenager.

"Brienne?"

"Yes?"

"We didn't… ever since…," Jaime blurts out saying, screwing his eyes shut.

And he used to be smooth, so smooth.

Brienne tilts his head at him, "You mean…"

Jaime nods wordlessly. She bites her lower lip, "I thought you didn't want to."

"Just like I thought you didn't want to," Jaime admits, glancing at her muscular body in the dim moonlight shining through the window. "Do you want to?"

Brienne tries her best not to stare. He didn't want to sleep with her ever since the mugging. And she respected that, wanting to give him time, despite the fact that Brienne missed the close contact more than she'd ever dare to admit out loud.

She was a virgin for a very long time. And up to the point that Brienne started a relationship with Jaime, with whom she later had her first time, Brienne thought she wouldn't need sex at all. The words of Septa Roelle always echoed through her mind that she was ugly and that no one would care for her in such a way because she was hideous and not at all desirable – and her rather graphic depictions of the pain of the first time, and how pregnancy and the like were just _bloody business_. But then Jaime stepped into her life, or rather, sneaked around in it like a cat, teasing her to the point that she felt like a teenager again – and all of a sudden he was all the things her Septa had ruled out for her being a possibility.

And once they took their relationship to that level, Brienne had to realise that sex was not just enjoyable - and her first time not at all as painful as her Septa had painted it, and that she needed sex indeed, or at least she needed to sleep with Jaime, something that was always a great source for his teases of her being a passionate woman. And at some point Brienne was glad to find someone who seemed to sync with her on that level. Sleeping with Jaime was…

As odd as it may sound, making love was always a way of wordless communication, a way of making up, a way of forgetting the world, because it really was just this: Making love to each other. Now, Brienne can only leave brochures, and ignore her apparent want for him, in favour of her need for him. Because she _really_ needs this idiot of a man who acts like a brat and watches stuff on Netflix for too many hours that Brienne believes he is their best customer.

So yes, she misses having him close to her in that way, to have him synced with her, to speak without words, forget the world, _make love_.

And in any case, she thought, feared that he didn't want her after…

"I… Do you want, like right now?" Brienne asks cautiously, her bright eyes shining to the point that it blinds his eyes.

And by the Gods, did Jaime love that gormlessness in her wide blue eyes ever since he got to know her. He could bathe in it – until Jaime made her forget about all her uncertainty by claiming her to show her that there is nothing to be uncertain about.

Just that there are many things to be uncertain about, when it comes to _him_.

"I'm… I… I would like to, but that doesn't mean you have to, I…," Jaime stammers, feeling like a stupid teenager losing his virginity. "I'm sorry. I'm talking gibberish and making a fool of myself."

"So am I, I guess," she shrugs awkwardly.

"So we both… want this," Jaime grimaces.

There was a time when he didn't have to make sure. He simply _was_ sure.

"I… yes," Brienne replies.

"Then… care to join me?" Jaime makes a face at his own words.

He _really_ used to be smoother, _so_ much smoother. However, Brienne seems to ignore it as she climbs into the bed next to him, edging closer to him cautiously, as though she didn't want to scare him. As though he was a startled animal, which could be the truth of course.

Jaime finds a bit of self-confidence at last to cover the bit of distance between them and kiss her plump, warm lips, smelling her shampoo, the one she always uses, for years. Jaime gains even more confidence once he feels her moving against him with need and want.

At least that is something he doesn't need a hand for… yet.

Both kiss for a long while, trying to get used to each other again, but Jaime knows that kissing is not the same as sex, so he turns more to her, running his left hand instead of his right, he has to tell himself again and again that he has to use the left, over her body up to her chin to tilt it the way he always does, but he uses too much power with his fingers so that their lips part.

"Sorry," he mutters between gulps of air. Brienne simply kisses him again, guiding his left hand to rest on her hip. Jaime wants to roll atop of her, like he usually did, only to realise that there is no hand to hold him upright, so he swings too far, unable to balance himself on just his stump, feeling pathetic all over.

Brienne reacts quickly and pulls him back to her, on top of her, not wanting to lose contact, after she has been waiting to feel his skin against hers for felt eternities. She kisses him, and every kiss feels like one of her "it's alrights".

Jaime tries again and kisses down her neck, breathes in her scent, tries to get back in touch with her, with himself, though he still doesn't know what to do with his hands, or no, with his _hand_ , and the stupid _stump_.

"You can touch me if you want," Brienne tells him in a breathy voice, realising that he only kisses her, pressing his body against her, but keeping his hand and his stump away from her.

Maybe he doesn't want her after all…

Jaime licks his lips as he pulls away, readjusting his posture to straddle her, only to realise that if he wants to balance himself atop of her, he has to use his left hand for it, which leaves him to caress the body of his Amazon with this ugly stump. However, that is when he feels her guiding his stump against the side of her body, to run up and down her skin, probably trying to show him that it's really alright and that she is not disgusted with it, even if he is.

He really doesn't deserve her.

Jaime tries to imagine for his hand to be back to caress her, to run up and down the side of Brienne's body, the curve of her hip, and that he doesn't need her to help him with it.

He tries to pretend that he is the lover she needs and wants.

She pulls on his waistband, her movements fidgety, uncertain.

This is really just like their first time, though _he_ was much more confident during the first time, because he still had both his hands.

"And you're sure?" he asks.

Last chance to chicken out.

Brienne nods before kissing him again, "Are you? If you don't want, we can just stop."

But Jaime doesn't want to stop.

Maybe he can do that. You don't need your hand for _that_ , right?

So he buries his face in the nape of her neck as Brienne does quick work on his and her underwear, so he can at last move into her with a bellowed cry.

What follows is a blur.

A _short_ blur.

Jaime knows he cries her name. He knows that she holds him tightly as he does, not moving much. He knows that she definitely did _not_ cry his name in ecstasy.

And that even though Jaime used to make her scream his name, digging her nails into his back, shrieking it like a prayer as he brought her to completion again and again and again.

And now Jaime lies in her arms, grunting like a boar, not knowing where to move his hand, his stump, unable to do even that one thing, to do the one thing he never called into question, because he always could. But now, he can't even make her swing her too long legs around him, beg him to bring her to completion with the magical word of his names dying on her lips.

He feels even more like a failure than he already is anyways.

"I'm sorry."

"It was good."

"It wasn't good, we both know that."

"I liked it."

"You are a bad liar, Brienne. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"I liked it. I needed you. _That_ is the truth."

"Yeah, you got nothing much of me."

"For me, it was more than enough."

"Then you are very frugal."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"What?!"

"Did I do something wrong? I don't know, it's..."

"I was the one who failed to deliver. Why would you think that you did?"

"I… I thought you didn't want me because of… what the muggers did, or no, _almost_ did. I…"

Jaime pulls her head to his chest at once, eyes wide, heart hammering so loudly in his ears that even the thought of his hand is overshadowed by it.

He really is a bloody arsehole.

He only thinks about his bloody problems of coming too early, when Brienne thought all this time that he wouldn't want her after the muggers almost raped her.

Because the muggers almost raped her.

"That's not it, believe me," he says, his voice shaking with emotion. "It was because of me and the problems of my missing hand. Not because of you. Not at all. Not at all. Not at all. And I'm honestly sorry that I ever made you believe that. Please believe me that much, Brienne. I love you and I didn't keep away from you because of that. I never could. For that I love you too much. Okay?"

"Okay."

He can feel something wet against his chest and something wet in his eyes as their hearts start to calm down again, silently weeping.

Because nothing is alright.

Nothing has improved.

Not even slightly.


	7. Bathtub

**Author's Note** : Thanks for sticking around! I took the liberty to include some original lines, like I did in the first chapter. I found it had a nice touch. I hope you'll enjoy the chapter despite the gloom and all the drama.

I'm going full-out with this fic, I fear.

I hope you'll enjoy ;)

Jaime sits on the couch cross-legged, one of Brienne's brochures in his lap. Ever since the night they tried to make love for the first time since the mugging, things have been even more at a disarray than they were before.

It's not that Jaime _actually_ forgot that Brienne was mugged alongside him. He is not that much of an idiot, but at some point between self-pity and self-blame, somewhere inside the hyphen, Jaime pushed the possibility that Brienne may suffer insecurities likewise. She just always seems so strong, even now, especially now, so it didn't dawn on him until that night that Brienne believed that he no longer desired her because those men touched her, or wanted to touch her in that way.

So, as an effort to stand true to his word, if in secret, Jaime started to go through the damned brochures. While he doesn't see himself anywhere in these projects anytime soon, he reckons he owes Brienne that much to read them before he says 'no' to them. Which is why he arranged with himself to read one per day. Slow steps. Careful steps. One at a time.

Like the doctor says.

They have argued less because Jaime really made an effort to act less like an ungrateful shit, but no matter how much he wants to move past this for Brienne's sake, he can't. As frustrating as it is, he can't. The hand no longer there literally stands between them. It's still too present in his life, his mind.

Not to mention the nightmares and the phantom pains. Jaime lost count of the many times he woke up to Brienne calling out his name, and he was drenched in cold sweat, whimpering like a bloody woman as he had the feeling that someone was running iron pokers through his invisible hand, up his visible forearm, shoved it through bone, through flesh.

And if Jaime doesn't rouse from phantom pains taking his breath away, he wakes up from nightmares as his mind keeps playing through the mugging again and again and again, if it doesn't paint an even darker outcome that this one.

Because there is, because there are.

Jaime dreams about the men raping Brienne before his eyes after all, right in the unnaturally blue light of the torch, looking into her sapphire blue eyes as she shatters.

He dreams about the men killing her before his eyes, snapping her neck, running a knife through her heart, shooting her in the head.

He dreams about the men cutting off his hand with a rusty knife, and tossing it over to Brienne to do with it things he doesn't even want to say out loud.

He dreams about the men cutting off both his hands, and his feet.

He dreams about the men shooting off his hand and then Brienne's hand.

He dreams about the desperation in her eyes.

He dreams about the leader's laughter as he calls her 'bitch' and him a 'rich boy'.

And it is only once he wakes up, finding Brienne looking at him with worry and an odd sense of understanding that he feels even more powerless, because worse could have happened to them both, and still, there would have been nothing he could have done about it. In every dream version, one worse than the other, it seems as though Jaime is incapable of saving her.

And that used to be one of the things he was certain about – that he could save her.

Keep her safe.

Keep her.

Just like he used to be certain about his manhood.

They had sex a few times after the first-time-post-mugging-debacle, but it's nothing close to good sex, nothing close to the kind of sex that left Brienne begging for him. He appreciates her, let's say, _effort_ that she usually lets him be the top one, likely guessing that this would give Jaime a bit more control and more of the feeling that he is indeed the lover who can dominate, the way he used to, but it still doesn't help his shameful performances. In the end, they always end up as a bundle of arms and legs, trying to make themselves believe that just kissing is enough to make up for Jaime being the only one who comes anywhere close to completion while Brienne is left with a few soft mewls and keeping him close to her.

His stamina is gone, his tease is gone, the fun is gone. They used to actually laugh while having sex.

And now it's just a continuous try on his behalf to bring pleasure to the body that he loves, a constant trial and error, the operative word being error.

Jaime just feels completely useless.

He can't even make love to Brienne.

How is he supposed to show her that he loves her if he can't even do that tiny little thing? Because he knows Brienne needs it, needed it ever since they slept with each other for the first time. And normally, Jaime should be able to give her at least that much. That should be within his capabilities, just that it isn't.

Brienne isn't just gifted with a cripple to tend to, not just a brat of a cripple, an idiot of a cripple, who is too busy with his own problems, but also a cripple who fails at the easiest of tasks, to give her at least _one_ good reason to want him, because all the other reasons why she seemingly still wants him are no good reasons.

He is no good reason.

Jaime puts the brochure down at once, letting out a growl, "I need a bath."

Baths prove to be easier for him. While it may be different for others, taking a bath instead of taking a shower leaves Jaime with his entire body to move, and if he loses something, it won't drop deep, not to mention that it feels pretty good to be hugged by warm water.

So soon Jaime finds himself in the tub, letting the warmth of the water seep through his skin. A lot of his muscles that used to tone up his body are now gone back beneath the surface. He is still lean – Jaime could eat a boar a day and still not put on weight. He has an _outstanding_ metabolism.

Maybe he should start to work out again. Maybe that would make him look less like a pathetic teenager with a not-teenager-like head, failing at sex.

But then again, what for? To hide the fact that this body is burned out no matter what he does? Or that Brienne at least gets to look at a toned body while Jaime comes too early?

Jaime dips his head underwater, deafening all sound, muting the lights above him so that they bleed into swirls of colour.

He gets lost in the growing light-headedness, drawing all thoughts away.

The water really feels great against his skin, like a second skin.

Maybe he really doesn't belong here anymore.

This apartment.

With her.

This life.

Maybe he should just stay underwater, where everything is dimmed, tuned down…

Jaime blinks as black dots dance before his eyes, but one particular black dot grows larger and larger – and at once he feels himself pulled back to the surface. Jaime sputters water, coughing a few times to look at Brienne, her sleeves soaked, sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at him with her sapphire blue eyes that are piercing right through him.

"Are you alright?" she asks, seemingly out of breath as well. "Do you have a fever or something?"

Really, she just comes home and wants to wash out a stain she got from the coffee she managed to pour over herself, only to see Jaime almost drowning in a bathtub.

"No, no," Jaime shakes his head. "I, uhm… I just dove a bit?"

Brienne looks at him, the air catching in her throat at once, coffee stain long since forgotten as she sees the shame in his eyes.

No.

Please no.

Not that, too.

"How long?" she asks, now in a voice that is hard as stone.

"I don't… know," Jaime brings out slowly, feeling shame creep up cold on his skin.

Did he really just try to…?

The first Lannister to drown in a bathtub, now if that wasn't a disgrace for his Father.

However, before he can go on thinking, Jaime hears a smacking sound before his brain registers pain in his cheek, his head turning to the side from the impact. Jaime blinks, stunned.

"You bloody arsehole!"

Jaime looks back to Brienne, hand still raised, breathing hard.

"Coward!"

Jaime bites his lower lip.

Because she is so right.

"So is that it? You just want to drown yourself while I'm not home? You just want to leave me when I can say nothing about it?" she demands.

"Brienne, it wasn't like that," Jaime tells her. "I didn't jump into the tub with the plan to… do that. And I wasn't even…"

He can feel her smack him in the neck this time, if a little weaker.

"Don't you dare say that it wasn't like that!" she shrieks. "I'm not that dumb, alright?"

"I don't say that you're dumb," Jaime argues.

"Then stop thinking of me as a witless fool who doesn't get this here," she demands. "Don't you mock me!"

"I'm not mocking you," Jaime argues vehemently.

He never could.

Not about this.

"You can't just die!" Brienne hisses.

The why is left unspoken on Jaime's lips as he looks at her.

"You need to live to take revenge," she hisses, to give him a verbalised answer to his unverbalised why.

"We won't ever find those guys, Brienne, face it. There is no way that we'd ever get revenge. I don't even care about revenge," Jaime argues, shaking his head. "They got what they wanted, and we won't ever get it back."

"You coward," she repeats again.

And Jaime knows she is right.

She is so very right.

He _is_ a coward.

Suddenly he feels the sloshing of water and weight pressing down on him. Jaime tears his head around to see Brienne, fully clothed, straddling him, her eyes so fierce with ice that it makes him shudder.

She grits her teeth at him, "A little misfortune and you're giving up."

"Misfor… misfortune? I lost my hand, Brienne, that's not just a little misfortune," he insists, though his voice comes out hoarse. "I was that hand."

And he used to be a lion.

"You were that hand my arse! You think I would have started a relationship with you because of your _hand_? Do you think I love you because your hand or stop loving you because you don't have it anymore?" she growls, her blue eyes shining like a million sapphires.

"No, I…," Jaime mutters helplessly.

"You don't get to do that, you hear me?! You don't get to die!"

She pushes the flat of her hand against his chest, shoves him as tears spring to her eyes.

"You don't get to do that after all we've been through."

She shoves him again.

"You can't just die on me."

Brienne shoves him with both her hands, the water splashing over the edge.

"You can't just drown yourself in a bloody bathtub."

She goes on cursing, pushing, crying.

"You can't just leave me here."

She hammers on his chest, not strong enough to cause damage, but enough to shake him to the core, like a hammer rammed against a bell deafening all other sound.

"You can't just make me love you, and then drown yourself in a bathtub! I won't let you, you idiot! I will kill you before you kill you!"

Jaime simply pulls her down to make her rest against him. She squirms beneath his touch.

"I'm sorry. It won't ever happen again," he mutters into her hair. "I wasn't thinking."

"Right," she mutters, not convinced.

He was thinking, he must have been thinking.

He wanted to get away from her, from this life.

"I was not thinking. I just had my head underwater and forgot. I didn't make a plan or so. Believe me that much, Brienne," he mutters into her straw-like hair.

And Brienne finds herself trying to believe that, finds herself believing it already.

"I promise you. That won't ever happen again. I promise."

He never broke a real promise to her yet, and Brienne knows that this is intended as a real promise, as a vow, an oath.

Brienne just leans her head against him, not caring for the tub being crowded, not caring for the water getting colder and colder, not caring for her ruined clothes. She just leans against him, hearing his heartbeat, needing to know that he is still there, needing to remind her body that he won't leave, won't slip away.

Jaime kisses her scalp once before leaning his head back, sending the water up and down in waves once more.

They stay like that for a while, trying to make the promise more solid by holding on to each other.

"I am halfway through the brochures, you know?"

"You read them?"

"Yeah, I just take… a bit longer, I guess."

"That's alright, for as long as you read them."

"I will read them all, I promise you that, too."

"I promise you."

"I promise."

"I swear it."


	8. Let's Talk

**Author's Note** : Thanks for sticking around despite the shameless drama.

To Coque: Thank you! I'm glad you like the Modern AU as well - even if it's stuffed with drama ;)

I hope you'll like this chapter. I just brought in Margaery as Brienne's female friend, because I find her a good candidate because of her connection to Renly and her character.

I hope you'll like it ;)

* * *

Brienne lets out a sigh as she pulls on her blouse, waiting for Margaery to let her inside her apartment. Brienne really didn't want to go, but Margaery _insisted_ , and she has a way with people to get them into whatever she wants, so now she finds herself waiting to be let inside her apartment – to _talk_. And that even though Brienne rarely gets her jaws apart when talking to anyone but Jaime about personal matters, and she knows this will be personal.

At last the door opens, and Margaery almost flies around her shoulders, holding her close, "Hey, Brie, how are you?"

She pulls away to offer a smile, squeezing her hand with a soft smile.

"Hey, I'm good, thanks," Brienne replies, ducking her head out of reflex.

She knows Margaery through Renly. Before he had his coming out, she posed as his girlfriend. Brienne felt more than uncertain about interacting with her at first, because Margaery is plainly gorgeous and has this aura about herself that draws people in like moths attracted to the light. However, over the course of time, Margaery became one of the few female friends she has - since Brienne always felt more confident talking to men instead of persons of her own sex. She doesn't do girly talk. That language is completely unfamiliar to her. But Margaery, while not taking part in her hobbies, appreciates them, just like she appreciates Brienne.

And she is the number one source for Brienne to get advice on what to wear without looking like a drag.

Furthermore, Margaery, along with Renly and Loras, though he only did reluctantly, because he is a tough bone after all, was a great support for them ever since the incident. She even got them groceries in the early stages, when Brienne was rather reluctant to leave Jaime alone at all, and she didn't accept Brienne's continuous thank yous, stating that this was the least she could do.

"Yeah, _right_ ," Margaery snorts, pulling the tall woman inside.

"You know how I mean it," Brienne shrugs.

"Let's sit down and talk, c'mon," Margaery says, patting on the couch as she sits down, motioning at Brienne to do the same, which she does.

"Did you hear anything about the muggers yet?" Margaery asks.

"Nothing much. The problem is that we could only give vague details about height, probable weight, and stature. We aren't even sure how many it was. They are still looking for the weapon to somehow trace back to the owner, but Jaime and I only heard their voices at best. So we would have to hear them to know for certain," Brienne shrugs.

She shrugs a lot these days.

"But maybe they'll find the gun after all," Margaery offers.

"I hope so," Brienne shrugs… again.

She already starts to get shoulder pains from it.

"Though I still don't get it. You say they weren't after your money," Margaery makes a face. "I mean, isn't that what they always want?"

Brienne only talks about the matter if you poke her for it, so Margaery knows.

And she is _very_ good at poking.

So she will poke around a bit.

"No, they just wanted… I don't know what they wanted, to be honest. They wanted to get to us. They are sadistic little shits, for all it matters. So I try not to find reason in what they've done," Brienne replies. "Because that would mean they actually had a reason to do that, at least in my view."

And they had no reason.

They had no right.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Margaery sighs.

"I will kill them, if they find them, once they find them. I will kill them. I will just kill them," Brienne says, her head lowered, her jaw set, fists clenching.

"Brienne," Margaery grimaces.

She knows her in a longer while, and she knows just how devoted Brienne is to her loved one's protection. Margaery can still vividly remember how she fought any person who dared to call Renly names in her presence when still in college, and from his stories ever since High School, and how many bloody noses that earned Brienne. Though things turned a lot darker with Jaime getting injured by the muggers. Now it's not just about wanting to protect him, it's about wanting to avenge him.

And Margaery honestly hopes that Brienne is smart enough not to do something reckless to achieve just that.

Because, sadly, she happens to be the type who is reckless enough in her love, in her will to fight and protect.

"How are _you_ taking it? I mean, with the… with what they _tried_?" Margaery asks tentatively. She knows that Brienne hates to talk about such matters per se, but this is even touchier, but she reckons that Brienne doesn't touch that topic otherwise, and Margaery knows that this is something you don't just forget.

Brienne looks at her for a long moment.

"While no one tends to believe me, it didn't frighten me more than did the whole situation of being mugged by this gang. They didn't get to touch me in that way. So, to me, that was pretty much just words," Brienne admits truthfully with a roll of her shoulders. "The only thing I was concerned about was that it changed something about how Jaime looked at me, but, ugh… we kind of ruled that out by now."

"How is he?" Margaery asks.

Brienne just shrugs again, because that is all she can do these days, shrug, "He's still pretty much isolating himself in the apartment."

"Did you two talk yet?" Margaery asks.

"We try, we do… but it's… it's difficult. He tries not to…," Brienne says, her voice trailing off, and Margaery completes, "Treat you like shit?"

Brienne looks at her, but the other woman is not impressed, "What? He does, let's not pretend. I was over often enough to see and hear it."

Jaime was always into teasing, but now he is all into morbid humour directed at himself, though those bullets hit Brienne the same way.

"It has improved since," Brienne argues. "He makes an effort, he really does. It's just that talking about these matters or about matters of… you know, moving on or so… are topics that instantly brings back tension. So we end up fighting often enough. Though I rather fight with him than having him all lethargic."

She rather has him cursing than in some stupid bathtub, trying to sneak away.

"Well, but it can't stay that way," Margaery argues.

No, Brienne knows that it can't stay that way.

She does.

"He needs time. I mean… I talked to the doctors and they advised me to give him just that. And I try my best to do that, but I can't stand it to see him like this. I want him to move around again, I want him to move forward. I want to leave that behind and have a fresh start, but Jaime… I don't know, he seems to try to dream his hand back," she admits, allowing the words to come that Jaime either doesn't want to hear or doesn't get to hear because she can't talk to him.

Can't talk to him in that way.

She is not used to handling something that is suddenly so very fragile.

Someone who is suddenly a lot more fragile where he used to be unbreakable, like steel.

Brienne is clumsy.

How is she supposed to preserve something and keep it from fractures if she ends up stumbling and falling half of the time?

"You are doing a great job, Brie. I don't know many women who'd be that strong," Margaery argues, running her hand over the back of Brienne's.

"I don't feel strong. I feel like a failure. Because I don't get him out of that hole, no matter what I do. I mean… if I try to make him move, like I did with the prosthetics, he feels offended, believing that I only want him to cover up his injury or whatever… though he started reading the brochures at last… but I don't see that he will really act upon any of the offers any time soon… If I try to make him use his stump, he seems to be so frustrated with himself that he just gives up before he ever really tried, and with his left hand… well, he has to use it at some point, but when I tell him that he could do writing as an exercise or so, he just laughs at me sadly," Brienne grunts. "And if I just let him continue with his ways, I fear he'll never stop."

Margaery holds her hand, squeezing it with a sympathetic grimace.

Vicious cycles are so very... vicious.

"And Tyrion can't bring him to reason either?" she asks in a soft voice.

"No. Tyrion tries his best, but Jaime doesn't want to listen," Brienne shakes her head.

Tyrion has been going in and out of their apartment to knock sense into Jaime. He told him that he should attend business meetings with him, to offer him a new job perspective within the family business without Jaime being forced to talk to their Father about the matter, he talked to him about job opportunities within the police department, as a training supervisor at the academy, something of the like, he even suggested that Jaime should join Brienne as a security manager for the Baratheons. He wanted to take him out for drinks. He kicked against his shin more than once and called him a witless fool even more often.

But Jaime just took it all in, and left it there.

"I reckon therapy is no option for him either," Margaery makes a face.

"No, he hates psychologists. He thinks they will all try to hypnotise him. Though that is nothing new, he believes that ever since I know him," Brienne shrugs. "And I tend to agree."

To her, it's enough to pour her heart to friends, or even Jaime for the matter. Talking to a complete stranger just seems... completely strange.

"Did you two… _you know_?" Margaery tilts her head to the side.

"Yeah, a few times by now," Brienne admits much more openly than she ever dared to believe. She usually doesn't address such matters with other people, not even friends. Whenever sex became an issue during a discussion, Brienne usually found herself awkwardly shifting in her seat and blushing like a teenager. She only talked, if at all, with Jaime about these things, but since that proves to be very complicated lately, Brienne has no other option but to talk to other people about these matters.

Because she could really use some advice.

"Oh? Well?" Margaery blinks at her, and Brienne is glad for it that she doesn't really push her _much_.

"It's not how it used to be," she admits, not meeting the other woman's gaze. "Which would be fine to me, _is_ fine to me, but it's not to Jaime. I reckon he wants to prove himself to me, only to pressure himself so that… why do I say that out loud now?"

"Because you can't talk to him, and because I am an expert in the field," Margaery winks at her with a grin.

"Whatever," Brienne chuckles, feeling some of the tension dissolve despite the small blush on her cheeks.

"But now in all sincerity, Brie. It's alright to talk about these things. I know that you like to keep things inside of you and let them boil for _years_ , but this is not doing you any good. I see how downcast you are at work. Renly is more than concerned about you, you know that. Even my brother keeps asking about you, and that surely means something. We all see that you are unhappy," Margaery tells her.

"Well, this is no happy situation right now," Brienne argues.

"No, it's not, but it has been for a long time, without any significant change," Margaery tells her.

And Brienne tends to agree.

They had breakthroughs in little.

Up to that point, Jaime promised her not to die, he reads the brochures, and he tries to act civilly. But other than that? Nothing much changed yet.

They seem to be stuck, still.

"Did you ever consider that maybe you two need a… break?" Margaery then says, pulling Brienne out of her thoughts, " _What_?"

Margaery holds up her hands in surrender, "Please don't take offence in that. I don't say that you are unable to help him or that I think you don't love him. Anyone who believes that is a complete idiot."

"Then why would you say such a thing?" Brienne questions.

Because she loves this man. She'd love him if he had no arms or legs whatsoever, he'd love him if he was only a head, by the Gods, however foolish that may be.

"Because maybe that is what it'd take for Jaime to come out of his snail shell again. You are stuck. You say that yourself," Margaery explains.

"But I love him," Brienne argues.

She loves him.

If she didn't, she would have taken off by now.

Because Brienne is usually too proud to take pain at other people's hands without fighting back, but she accepts it coming from Jaime at this point because they love each other, because she really knows that he doesn't mean for any of this to happen, and that he wouldn't if he found the strength to stop, or to move on.

"I know that, but you also have to think about yourself, Brie. And right now, you only sacrifice yourself for him," Margaery argues. "That's not healthy for you."

"Of course I do, _because_ I love him," Brienne repeats stubbornly.

"Jaime can go on with his ways because he knows you there, or so I think. Because he gets to treat you like shit, and gets away with it, because he knows that you'll stick around no matter what he does. Maybe he has to realise again that such behaviour has consequences. And the one drastic consequence is to tell him that you'll leave or at least take a break if he doesn't move forward in some way," Margaery says. "And I'm speaking to you as your friend, Brienne. Because I'm concerned about _you_. Just like you should be concerned about yourself again."

"I don't want to pressure him. And I don't think an ultimatum will do him any good," Brienne shakes her head.

"You _have_ to pressure him, Brienne. Or else he will just go on as he does," the other woman insists.

"I won't give him an ultimatum," Brienne declares determinedly.

"Why?" Margaery asks.

"Because I love him," Brienne shrugs.

"Brienne," Margaery sighs, but the tall woman goes on, "No, you don't understand. I fear that if I were to give him an ultimatum, he would… let me go."

"You mean…," Margaery looks at her, and she nods solemnly, "I think that if I leave him, he will leave me. I think he won't come after me. And I can't afford that, because no matter what this blatant idiot of a man does, I love him. And I don't want to lose him. I almost lost him that night, I can't ever have that again. _Ever_."

That is a fear she doesn't want to feel ever again.

Ever.

Ever.

Ever.

She never wants to feel the way she did back in the alley when the men left and she held on to Jaime, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to keep him alive. She never wants to feel like she did in the hospital, sitting on those hideous, uncomfortable, orange plastic chairs and wait for news, waiting for others to save the man she couldn't keep safe.

Brienne never wants to feel like that ever again.

"He doesn't know just how lucky he is with you," Margaery snorts. "But Brienne, you have to think about yourself, too."

"That is what I do," Brienne says simply – and that is when Margaery nods, understanding, "Because you make sure that you get what you need. Him."

"Yes," Brienne agrees.

"How about wine, or even better, hard liquors?" Margaery asks, getting up.

" _Yes_."


	9. Welcome to the World of Broken Things

**Author's Note** : Thanks for sticking around!

I couldn't resist to bring in some good old Jaime/Tyrion interaction. Because I love those two interacting. I need them. Almost as much as I need Jaime/Brienne action.

Meep.

I hope you'll like this chapter ;)

* * *

Jaime sighs. Brienne is over at Margaery's place, which means that he has the apartment to himself yet _again_.

He even started cleaning, however clumsily you can clean with one hand.

At some point it feels as though he and the apartment become one huge lump, growing together with every day passing.

Yet another punch was delivered right to his guts once Jaime realised that his _former_ colleagues, the operative word _really_ being former after all, actually give a damn on him.

It's not that Jaime was ever really fond of them, and that non-fondness was always mutual, but he had hoped, had foolishly believed that they at least _appreciated_ him for his skills and that they found it fair and sound that he earned himself the promotion. He talked to Meryn Trant over the phone, and it took Jaime little of his smooth talking and persuasion skills to find out the truth that they had well moved on without him – and that now Trant has best chances of earning his spot, his promotion.

At some point Jaime starts to believe that his colleagues were so damn late not to save Brienne and him so Trant could get the promotion in his stead, however foolish that is.

One of the worst things were those hushed little assurances that maybe it's for the best that he can no longer work in the active service. Jaime could settle down, the others discussed, so Trant informed him. And Jaime had to try hard not to laugh as he replied that he is glad that he is still on their minds that much that they discuss his future plans. Trant went on about how this ambush just proved how dangerous this job is and that Jaime, with all the money and a girl by his side, may seek out a safer lifestyle from now on.

Jaime hung up on the man, then, fed up with hearing it from someone like Meryn Trant, who is just a coward, a wimp, a pathetic arse licker, that Jaime is out of service "for good". And at some point, Jaime is more and more convinced that all of them lick the Commissioner's arse from the inside out.

So yes, maybe they have been right about that one thing – this police department died for him, like the people in it died for him.

Jaime is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening.

"Back so early or did you forget something?" he asks, expecting to see Brienne whooshing into the apartment, but to his surprise, Tyrion stands in the door.

"You know, we have a doorbell for a reason," Jaime frowns at his younger brother as he closes the door.

"Then you shouldn't have given me a spare key," Tyrion shrugs. "Where is Brienne?"

The small man walks inside, looking around.

While Jaime loves his brother unconditionally, he really would rather be alone right now. Lately, he has been fighting with Tyrion about as much as he did with Brienne, and Jaime is done fighting.

He is just done.

"Out. She is having a Ladies Day with Margaery," Jaime replies. "So? What brings you here?"

"The chauffeur, obviously," Tyrion shrugs, walking over to the couch to sit down. Jaime plops down next to him, knowing that Tyrion won't leave even if he told him that he wanted to be alone.

"You look like crap," Tyrion says.

"Likewise," Jaime huffs.

"You need a haircut," Tyrion goes on.

"Now you sound like Brienne," Jaime grunts.

"No, I sound like the voice of reason," Tyrion huffs. "So Brienne is plainly right. You need a haircut."

"So? What else do you want to insult me for?" Jaime grunts.

Because it's not like he doesn't fail and knows he fails in all aspects of his life.

Not long ago, Jaime wanted to drown himself in a bloody bathtub because he is that much of a pathetic little worm that he almost sought the easy way out.

So yeah, maybe police is really no longer an option for him.

While the others are arse lickers, he is a pain in the arse, a pathetic one.

"Oh, that list would be too long for an evening, day, month, year, century…," Tyrion exhales.

"Whatever, just get over with it. I talked to Meryn Trant this morning to learn that all are glad that I'm gone, so let's simply finish this as well," Jaime grunts.

"I just have this one question for you: What are you doing, you bloody, witless, foolish idiot of a man?" Tyrion looks at him with narrowed eyes, catching Jaime off-guard a bit, because Tyrion is usually not the one to use curse words, he knows more nuanced ways.

"I beg your pardon?" Jaime makes a face.

"I will spell it out to you once, because you are my big brother, and I care about you despite the fact that you are just an idiot: You are acting like a complete arse to anyone you care about, and you act especially like an arse to the one person who loves you, against better judgment. You know, the tall girl with striking eyes? The blue ones?" Tyrion narrows his eyes at him.

He saw it.

He heard it.

He heard it from friends and family.

And Tyrion knows that discretion is lost on his brother, it is now.

He talked to Brienne the other day, and it didn't take him much of his people reading skills to know just what is at sixes and sevens, by the Seven.

"I don't think I have to discuss such matters with you, brother, no offence," Jaime huffs.

He hardly finds the strength to talk to Brienne about matters about their relationship, and she is right in it.

"Oh, I _do_ take offence. I like her. She is the best thing that's ever happened to you. We both know that," Tyrion argues vehemently. "It's thanks to her that you stopped acting like a jerk, it's thanks to her that I started to like you better again, and didn't have to rely on our brotherly bond alone, but really found our friendship revived along the way."

Jaime grimaces. He and Tyrion didn't always share the close relationship they have now again, or at least did until the ambush happened. In fact, Tyrion and he had drifted apart sometime during their youth to starting adulthood. That was during the time Cersei was still an issue, and Tyrion just withdrew from him, or from the family altogether. It was only later that Tyrion told him that he found his brother changed, even after Cersei and he had ended it, and that Tyrion just couldn't be around him because that was not the man he remembered looking up to as a child.

And yes, it was Brienne who somehow managed to mend this break without trying to mend it. She just wanted to get to know Tyrion, so Jaime gave her his number – and for reasons Jaime couldn't ever tell, the two started texting back and forth until _he_ felt jealous of their close connection in turn. And just like she befriended Tyrion, he was suddenly back in Jaime's life, because he was part of Brienne's, and Brienne had him over for dinner, or to watch that antiquity show the two love to bits, almost constantly. And once Tyrion realised that Jaime was finally past Cersei and had made significant changes about himself, they grew perhaps even closer together than they were during childhood.

Well, until the ambush happened, that is, of course.

"And by the Gods, she was the one to wipe Cersei out of your mind for good. For that I could still kiss her feet," Tyrion adds.

"Let's not revisit that," Jaime huffs.

No, his past with Cersei, with his sin, is nothing he can deal with at this moment either.

He can't even deal with his lost hand, let's not pretend.

"Brienne is the best damn thing you have – and you push her away, man," Tyrion tells him. "And if it comes from a guy whose relationship history only has one solid relationship that was faked in the end and a whole bunch of prostitutes and escort ladies to list, this surely means something."

"I'm trying my best not to. And don't think I don't know that. I know that I act like an arse, just like I know that she doesn't deserve it, but I… I don't know how to stop. My whole life was turned upside-down. Our life was. Now I can't even make her breakfast without wrecking the kitchen. I can't even… doesn't matter," Jaime shakes his head.

"What now? Problems in bed?" Tyrion asks bluntly. Jaime tries hard not to blush like a stupid teenager. Because his sexuality never was an issue. Ever. Not to mention that he doesn't really like to talk about problems of that domain – with his brother of all people.

"You know, there are… ways… blue pills…," Tyrion tils his head to the side.

"I will not talk about the matter," Jaime replies defensively.

"Which happens to be one of the core problems," Tyrion retorts sarcastically.

"Did Brie say that to you?" Jaime asks.

"No, for that I happen to be your brother. You don't like to talk about problems. Because that means you have to admit to yourself and others that you have problems, are not perfect, that you are not the golden boy. That hurts your ego. And your ego, while very big, is a very fragile, a very easily offended creature," Tyrion tells him. "And if you believe that sex is just sex… believe me that it's not. Sexual frustration is _more_ than frustrating."

"We do have sex," Jaime insists, breathing hard.

This is ridiculous.

"It's just not good, though, I reckon," Tyrion huffs.

"I don't want to talk about this," Jaime repeats.

"Yeah, I know. We've been there," Tyrion snorts.

"If you pull out brochures about those matters as well, I don't guarantee for anything other than that I might fling you through the room like a ragdoll," Jaime warns him.

"I'm not too much into brochures. I enjoy good old conversation and shameless teasing until I get my will, you should know. And if you think that I want to _bother_ myself with my brother's sexuality, you are more than plainly mistaken. I have been involved into that all too much when it was about Cersei – and trust me, that is nothing I want to revisit, but I do when I see that my brother is _that_ close to destroying the one thing that made him likeable again," Tyrion huffs. "And we both know that, in the end, it isn't even about the sex, it's about your psyche."

Jaime says nothing this time, forced to stuff those truths, yes, truths, into his head.

"Jaime, if you don't watch it, Brienne will leave, you understand?" the younger man insists.

"At some point I think it would be for her best," Jaime sighs.

He is giving her just so much pain.

"Now stop being a cry-baby, by the Seven," Tyrion cries out in exasperation.

" _Cry-baby_? Now you _really_ sound like Brienne!" Jaime makes a face.

"Jaime, you lost your hand. Alright. You lost your right hand. Fine. But it's not like you are bound to a wheelchair or are unable to move anymore. You can move around, you can walk and talk. You still have another hand to use. You just have to relearn certain things," Tyrion tells him with a sharp kind of bluntness that Jaime didn't hear from him in a while.

It's as though his little brother decided to take off the gloves at last, the gloves he used to wear before all the while.

" _Just_ ," Jaime repeats.

"Yes, just. Losing a hand is not at all that awful. They have wonderful projects for prosthetics and physical therapy. And we are stinking rich, we could buy the entire company producing these prosthetics if we wanted," Tyrion retorts.

"Yeah, I've read about those problems," Jaime exhales. "I read the brochures."

"Then why are you not seeing doctors about such a thing?" the younger man questions.

"I don't want that," Jaime replies.

"Because you rather walk circles in the apartment, pace up and down like a lion in a cage, I see," Tyrion snorts. "Because that is _so_ much more productive."

"Maybe I want to do just that? I'm useless. I need help for everything. And I don't like that. I hate it. I hate it to be bloody dependent on everyone and everything. I used to be an independent, strong man. And now I'm just this here," Jaime says through gritted teeth, pointing at his arm, his body.

That is all that he is now.

He isn't of much use in the household.

He cannot contribute.

He is only a burden for Brienne.

And that is what really hurts.

Because he used to be her support.

The one to have her back.

"You need help for everything – and you get it? Oh, _boo_ ," Tyrion remarks sarcastically.

"Careful now," Jaime hisses.

Because this is no joking matter for Jaime.

"You are talking to a guy who, since early childhood, had to ask for everything, _really_ everything. So drop the act, Jaime," Tyrion curses at him. "Welcome to the world of broken things, brother."

The older looks at him, a little stunned.

"I always had to ask for a cricket to climb on my stool. I had to ask people to give me things from the counter because everything was out of my reach. I wouldn't be able to ride a car, if I hadn't one manufactured to my needs. I had to ask you often enough to play wingman if I wanted to hook up a girl who wasn't a prostitute because people are still not very tolerant when it comes to dwarfism. I am the one person who _really_ knows what it's like to feel useless and pathetic for always having to ask these favours, but you get to ask them from a person you care about and who cares about you, too," Tyrion tells him, his eyes narrow slits. "So stop whining."

He has played nice long enough, not wanting to hurt his brother, but Tyrion shall be damned if he doesn't intervene Jaime's roller-coaster ride down to the place of no return.

"To me, that's a lot worse," Jaime argues, though he is honestly taken aback by Tyrion's admissions. He was always rather easy-going about his height difference. He was the one to joke about it, and while Jaime always knew that this was his shield, he always admired about his younger brother that he didn't give in and always had the right comeback to any accusation.

"It's not. Because you are partners, and that means you help each other out because you care for one another, because it's natural for you to help each other, be there for each other. I had to ask our maids, our butlers, _or_ my big brother, who, by the time, was way too absorbed into our sister's world to care about me beyond the level of unconditional love there always was between us," Tyrion says, gritting his teeth.

And Jaime just looks on and listens.

"I had to make a fool of myself, Jaime. I was made a fool, someone dependent on our Father's name to get a job, dependent on other people to organise his life, until I finally found the courage to take matters into my own hands, moved out of the family house, and simply did my job for the Lannister Empire to earn my spot. I made arrangements for myself so that I don't have to ask anyone, I had my apartment manufactured to my needs so that I wouldn't have to anymore," Tyrion goes on.

Jaime swallows thickly, no smart reply coming to his mind.

"But _you_ don't have to do any of this. Because you can still reach the top shelf, can drive a car, with little effort, and little adjustments I told you I was willing to work out with you. You don't have to ask strangers, you don't have to take other people's stares for as long as you are home. You _only_ have to ask someone who doesn't take you for a fool. You only have to ask and you can be sure that you will get it without a nasty comment or look. Do you have any clue just how lucky you are that this is so?" Tyrion replies angrily.

"Yeah, I know just how fuckin' _lucky_ I am. I'm so fuckin' lucky to have her that I feel so fuckin' bad for it that she has only me in turn. I don't deserve her, easy as that," Jaime grits his teeth. "And that is why I hate it to be dependent on her. I would rather let her go of me and my shitty attitude."

"Oh, get your head out of your own arse. Do you really believe Brienne would take someone _that_ worthless? She chose you because she thinks you deserve her. You've known her for longer than I have, but I'm good at reading people, you know that," Tyrion quips, unimpressed.

"Yeah, better than me by far," Jaime agrees.

"And because I'm good at this, I tell you, I _warn_ you. You will lose her if you don't move on, if you don't move forward. Brienne stays, but she's using herself up – and I honestly think she is _that_ close to the breaking point. I know that she is. You know that she is. She is as much of a shadow as you are," Tyrion questions. "And I think that once she goes… you won't ever find together again. You will lose her, Jaime, do you want that?"

"No, I don't _want_ that, but I don't want her to live next to a man who is like this," Jaime argues.

"Then stop being like this!" Tyrion retorts. "Jaime, it's just a hand, alright? Doesn't she matter to you more than that hand?"

"She means everything to me. She is the one thing that makes me pull through a day," Jaime admits, running his left hand through his hair clumsily.

"The problem is that I am caught up in this, in this situation here. I know that these bastards are still out there. I know that I won't ever catch them. I can't make them regret what they did. I can't keep her safe. I couldn't keep her safe, and even now I can't make sure that those guys get what they deserve and won't ever pose a threat to her again. I can't. Meryn Trant just approved it," Jaime growls, his voice full of anguish.

Tyrion looks at him sadly.

"I won't ever be the same man I was before all this shit happened. I won't ever be the man again that Brienne fell in love with. I won't be the same man who wanted to…," Jaime rants, but then stops himself.

"Who wanted to do _what_?" Tyrion asks in a smaller voice. Jaime chews on his lower lip, leaning back in his seat.

And at once the anger is gone.

And at once resignation is there.

And at once sadness is there.

And at once his muscles go lax.

"All seemed so perfect that night, you know? That promotion was all I ever dreamed of. It was all I ever wanted, jobwise. I protected the innocent and got the bad guys. I did a job I loved to the point that I didn't care about shitfaces like Trant and the others. I loved this _job_. Because that had nothing to do with our Father pulling threads for me. That was something I managed without his approval. I did that all by myself…," Jaime shakes his head, gritting his teeth.

"I know," Tyrion sighs. He knows just how much it meant for Jaime to be a police officer.

"And the best was just how much Brienne admired me for it. I wanted to burst in pride when I told her about the promotion when I saw her reaction. Because she got it how much it mattered to me, how much it simply mattered. I thought that life was going just the right direction…," he exhales wearily, not looking at his brother, though Tyrion is looking at him the whole time.

"You see, I had it all figured out. I made her go out for dinner, you know, dress up, look fancy, and then I wanted to secretly get her to the old gym on the way home, where she used to train on her own when still younger, where I got her by surprise… I had talked to Father, I had talked to her Father… the dinner was already set… and then… those fuckers show up and everything just… broke away at once. And now we're just this. I'm just this, and I pull her down along with me," Jaime shakes his head. "I make her drown with me."

"You mean…," Tyrion blinks at him.

Jaime just nods.

"Did you tell her about that?" the younger man asks, and Jaime replies solemnly, "No."

"You should," Tyrion argues in a soft voice.

"I know I should. I know I should do many things…," Jaime sighs.

"If you don't talk to her, she'll leave, and then things are really beyond repair," Tyrion tells him in a softer voice.

"I know," Jaime sighs.

"Just… don't let that win over you, alright? You used to tell me the same when I was frustrated with myself and my height, so now I give the same advice back to you: Don't let that win over you. You are stronger than that. You both are. Because you are too bloody bull-headed to give in," Tyrion tells him in a strong voice. "So stop acting like shit, or else I will have to personally behead you, or hire someone to do it for me."

Jaime can't help but laugh at this, sadly so, but relieved also.

"I missed you, little brother," he says.

"I missed you, too, big brother," Tyrion replies.

"So, I hope you have some wine in the house, or else I will _really_ take offence now."

"Be my guest."


	10. Familiar Conversations

**Author's Note** : Hello, everyone! Thanks for sticking around despite the shameless drama, more drama, sprinkled with angst - and a bit of Jaime/Tyrion goodness.

I hope you'll like this chapter ;)

* * *

"Hey, I'm home," Brienne says as she gets inside, putting the keys down on the small table next to the door.

"Hey," she can hear Jaime's voice ringing out from the living room, which is dark, making her frown.

Brienne unshoulders her bag and strips out of her jacket before proceeding into the living room, surprised to find Jaime on the couch, but without the constant blare of some action movie, as it was usually the case.

"Is something wrong?" she asks. "Or is the TV broken?"

"No, not at all," Jaime replies. Brienne frowns, sitting down next to him. Her frown only deepens at a box in his left palm, where he usually has the remote these days. Her eyes wander up and down her partner, forcing her to an almost impossible grimace.

"Did you get a haircut?!" she blinks at him. Even in the dim light she can see that the hair is clipped and styled, and the beard is gone, too, and that even though Jaime had refused to shave ever since the one literally bloody try they had in the beginning - and wouldn't let Brienne do it either.

"Yeah, the barber from the brochure is better than I thought," Jaime shrugs. "I guess I really looked too much like a homeless person."

"It's fine. You know that I give little on looks," she argues with a snort.

And even with beard and too long bangs, Jaime looked nothing close to a "homeless person". He is good-looking by nature, beard and messy hair don't do much about it.

Though Brienne is honestly irritated by that sudden... _move_ , let's say. They have talked like that more often these days, a bit more like it used to, though she can't shake off the feeling that something is wrong about _this_ situation. For that, her shoulders are too tensed, still.

"Do you still remember when we first met?" he then asks, making Brienne blink even more.

 _This_ is definitely new.

"I remember how much I wanted to kill you because you kept calling me a 'beast'. Just like I remember how Catelyn Stark forced me to partner up with you for the survival training," Brienne blurts out saying.

Because that is the kind of conversation she used to be so familiar with.

And she just wants to talk about familiar things again.

Wants to be familiar again.

"Oh yeah, we got lost halfway through the second day," Jaime grins slowly.

Both had signed up for a survival training in Wolfswood. It was before Jaime started at the police station. He was still in training by the time. They were supposed to go in pairs, and Jaime had made the fatal mistake to blurt out asking if this camp was men's only, Brienne actually being the only female participant in the room, though he didn't catch that right away.

The Starks organise these survival trainings regularly, and Catelyn Stark, one of the instructors and initiators, _of course_ , forced them to form a group once she heard Brienne cursing like a sailor, _that_ close to jumping Jaime and wrestling with him in the base camp already.

They were to fulfil a number of tasks by getting to certain check points, and on the way, train their survival skills, obviously, hiking, making it across valleys, finding caves, making fire, camp for the night, and the like.

It was supposed to last a week. Jaime and Brienne only arrived on Day Eight, as night was drawing close, short before they wanted to send the helicopters to rescue them, all muddy and bloody from head to toe.

It's needless to mention that some, if not _most_ of the bruises and cuts were from fighting each other rather than wrestling with nature. They _really_ wrestled each other once, by a bridge.

Brienne had sworn revenge and cursed his name, feeling like a failure, after she wanted to impress Catelyn – since she had taken part in many of the programs hosted by the Starks to train these skills, and was a welcome guest, especially for Catelyn Stark. Brienne had grown on her and Brienne was thus even fonder of the older woman.

Well, that was until Jaime Lannister had screwed up her plans. Because Brienne was used to coming in first, fulfilling the tasks with ease, or maybe not with ease, but with enough will to be quick about it. She was used to Catelyn Stark being impressed with her skills… until they almost sent the helicopters to find them.

And for that, Brienne wanted Lannister blood.

To think that it has been years since.

To think where they stand now…

It's almost sad.

No, it _is_ sad.

" _You_ lost the map and the compass," Brienne insists, trying to ease into the conversation, into the familiar touch of the words, the tones.

"After _you_ knocked me over and they fell down a cliff," Jaime argues vehemently. "And me along with it, almost."

"I really wanted to kill you," Brienne rolls her eyes.

"Likewise. At some point it's still a miracle that we could ever stop hating each other enough for something else to develop," Jaime chuckles.

"Yeah, and ever since that survival training, you just kept showing up because you wanted a re-match," Brienne remembers.

Back then, she really thought that once the training session was over, she'd never see the snobby Lannister spawn again, only to have him pretty much knocking on her door about a week later – after Jaime had people figure out her address.

Since then, he had demanded a re-match.

He just kept knocking on her door.

Brienne rebuffed him.

And this went back and forth and forth and back.

"Because you were _not_ beating me. We were interrupted," Jaime grins.

"Yeah, yeah, you were taking a rest," Brienne huffs, though she has to smile as well.

If only it would stay like that from now on.

"I was! But in any case, I beat you to it once you agreed to the re-match," Jaime chuckles.

"And you let loose one of the stupidest pickup-lines ever, after I beat your sorry arse again," Brienne huffs.

"I did not expect you to just pull a jiu-jitsu move and flip me over. I saw stars," Jaime grins. "And my back was one huge bruise."

"And still you had enough might to say that," Brienne shakes her head.

" _Oh no, I'm choking! I need mouth to mouth, quick_! Yeah, that was not at all smooth, but I still got to kiss you," Jaime smiles.

They had both been on the dusty mattress in the old gym, Brienne towering above him, and he just feigned choking before uttering that, catching her off-guard for no more than a few split seconds, pulling her to him and kissing her until she stopped knocking against him.

He never had so many bruises from a kiss than this one.

And still, it was so damn perfect.

"I still don't know how that made me act upon it," Brienne snorts.

"Oh, I was just irresistible back then," Jaime chuckles softly.

Now maybe no longer, but back then?

He really could have started as a model, had Jaime only the slightest bit of interest in the matter.

"Not as much as you always gave yourself credit for," Brienne huffs.

"Hey, I convinced _you_ to take me, I think I get some credit for that. Till last, no one believed that we'd stop acting like bullheads and finally admit it to each other – or rather ourselves," Jaime argues.

"Yeah, that's true," Brienne sighs.

Everyone in their circles of friends kept bickering about them acting like an old married couple, something both refused with all their might. Brienne can still remember how she used to hit him in the arm like a thirteen year old boy to prove everyone else that she was anything but into Jaime Lannister.

Not that Jaime was any better. He called her 'wench' with a swell of pride in his chest, and used any opportunity to tease her to the point that she stormed off angrily, only for him to hurry after her to apologise and make her come back to him again.

And back then, they really thought that was the hugest part of work to overcome for their relationship.

But they were fundamentally proven wrong with this new situation.

 _This_ is their trial.

And neither one is sure if it won't be their error by the end of the day.

"Brie?" Jaime exhales.

"Yeah?" she looks at him.

"I wanted to apologise, for how I've been lately, ever since… it happened," Jaime says.

"You don't have to apologise," Brienne shakes her head.

"I do. You've taken all of my shit, and that even though you weren't well yourself. You've been the rock in this relationship in a long while," Jaime admits. "While I've been the tide trying to tear it down."

"That's nothing to apologise for. I made the decision to do what I did," Brienne shrugs.

"I'm still sorry," Jaime argues. "I really am."

"Jaime…," she means to say, but he interrupts her in a soft voice, "You know that I usually don't apologise, so you should better take it."

"Alright," she grimaces.

There is a moment of silence before he goes on talking, "At some point I just can't shake it off, you know? Everything was so good up to that point. Everything was messed-up because we are messed-up, but perfectly so."

"Yeah," Brienne can't help but agree.

Their perfection was odd, but it fitted them just right.

Until that night in the alleyway.

"And then those fuckheads destroy it all. I never thought that this hand would be so important to me until I lost it," Jaime admits, extending his right arm, glancing at the hand no longer there, his vision blurring a bit as he feels a bit of tear fluid gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"I picture," Brienne agrees solemnly.

"And you know what's bugging me even more?" Jaime goes on, his neck nervously flexing.

"No?" she looks at him.

"The irony of it," he snorts bitterly, still looking at his stump.

"What irony?" Brienne frowns.

She looks at the box he has been toying with throughout the conversation as he holds it right in front of his face.

"That evening they took my hand… the same evening… I wanted to ask for yours," he then says, eyes fixed on the box.

Brienne looks at him, not saying a word.

"I wanted to take you to where we first kissed, to the old gym. I wanted to do it all out of the handbook, only to see your surprised face… I've talked to your Father _long_ before the day, to be allowed to propose. We both know how set he is on traditions, almost as much as _my_ Father. The dinner I mentioned to you… it was supposed to be the dinner for us to announce it to my family. I had it all inside my head, like… I had two years inside my head about how life would be like, how our life would be like… and then those bastards came and… and they just cut that out, shot it off, took it away, took those two years away. And ever since I woke up after that ambush, there was just living from day to day, making it from one day to the next. I didn't dare to look any further…," Jaime says, his voice hoarse.

Brienne just goes on looking at him, not moving a single muscle other than those of her eyelids as she blinks at him.

"You know that I love you, right?" he then says.

"Yeah, just like I love you," she replies simply.

To her, that is simply out of question.

That is the one thing Brienne is always certain of.

"I do wonder… would you have said 'yes'?" Jaime asks in a small voice, eyes fixed on the box.

"Back then, I would have," Brienne tells him simply, finding her own eyes glistening.

He wanted to get married.

And then _this_ happens.

Fortune really plays the cruellest japes.

"And if asked you now? Would you say 'yes', still?" Jaime questions, his eyes not leaving the box.

Would she still want him like that?

Is he still the man she pictures her future with?

Or just the man she knows from the past?

Or rather, a faint echo of the man he was?

"No, if you asked me now, I would say 'no'," Brienne replies.

Jaime can't help but inhale sharply once.

Because that stings.

Not that he expected her to fall around his neck, it's just… he thought it would fix things for them, maybe.

Maybe he waited for too long or messed things up beyond repair…

And it would serve him right.

Jaime looks at her this time, "Why?"

"Because I know you better than most people," she says, making Jaime frown.

"So? Why shouldn't we marry? Maybe that'd undo some of all that bad," Jaime grimaces. "Because you're all that good."

Maybe that could fix them in some way.

Maybe they should just start over where they left off, where he left off.

"I'd like to marry you, one day, but… not like this," Brienne tells him.

"Because you don't want to marry someone who's treated you like shit the past few months, I see," Jaime huffs.

"No," she insists. "That's not at all it."

Jaime looks at her.

That's _not_ it?

"Then why?" he asks.

"Because you do that out of the fear that I will leave you, right? You think that if you don't make me stay, with something like this even, I will take off," Brienne says.

It's what everyone keeps telling her. It's what Margaery tried to tell her. And it's likely what others warned Jaime about likewise. That if Brienne were wise enough, she'd call off the relationship.

Jaime wouldn't have done so many things at once, like going outside to go to the barber, and seemingly preparing to talk about these things - if not for reason.

And that is the only reason: Fear.

Fear that she will leave.

Fear that he has gone too far and that she won't follow anymore.

"You'd have any damn reason to," Jaime shrugs, but that is when she grasps his stump, and it seems almost natural for a split second.

"I don't want to marry you right now because I want to prove to you that I don't need a ring to love you. I never did. I promised you that I love you, back in the hospital again, and that won't ever change. You don't have to vow something to make me stay. I _will_ stay, and that is what I want to prove to you," Brienne says. "That's why I'd say 'no' now. Not because I don't love you but _because_ I love you. You don't have to make me stay because I will anyways."

"I really don't deserve you," Jaime shakes his head, tears pricking agianst his eyes.

He really doesn't.

A few years back, when Jaime didn't know her well enough yet, he thought Brienne was incapable of showing that much emotion, that much empathy, but here he has the one woman who takes his shit and still finds the will to fight, to love.

She stays even though he pushes her away.

She pulls him up to the surface instead of allowing them both to drown.

She may not be fearless, but she fights those fears, shoots them down, and his along with them.

"Don't say that," she argues with vehemence this time, ripping Jaime out of his thoughts.

"Why? It's the plain truth," he shrugs.

He doesn't deserve her, period.

Not after all that's happened lately.

"If you say that, it sounds like we don't belong together, and that is what we do. If not, all this here would be pointless, all the pain and the suffering and… and I want to believe that it's worth something, whatever it is. I need that bit of purpose, so stop saying that, _please_ ," Brienne demands sadly.

Because she always built on the premise that they deserve each other.

That they belong together, no matter what other people may say.

Brienne needs that bit of certainty - and she finds it shaking whenever she hears it that Jaime doesn't deserve her. Because that means she doesn't deserve him.

Jaime studies her for a moment, but then agrees, "Okay."

"I won't run away if you don't run away. I will stay if you stay. I will hold on if you do. And I will knock your teeth out if you don't stop acting like an idiot," Brienne tells him.

"Understood, my lady," Jaime says, flashing a small, sad smile.

They really need a new direction.

Wherever that is.

"How comes we talk about this only now?" Jaime grimaces.

Because now, it seems almost effortless, when it was so much effort, so much work before.

"Because you weren't ready until now," Brienne shrugs.

She really knows him like no one else.

Because she trusts him.

Because he trusts her.

That has always been the thing between them – that they were at a truce, a mutual trust.

"Brie?" Jaime asks after a while.

"Hm?" she blinks at him.

"Maybe we should go on dates again, you know," he goes on.

" _Dates_?" Brienne makes a face.

"Well, we both know that I've been anything but _couple-y_ lately, to put it nicely," Jaime snorts.

And he wants to stop being this.

He really does.

He wants to be something close to the man that Brienne deserves again.

"Jaime, I don't need to go on dates for the matter," Brienne argues.

"I know, it's just… maybe we still should. I don't know," Jaime shrugs.

He has to make an effort, or no, he has to make the effort, but make it effortless at the same time.

"What's wrong?" Brienne asks.

"Ah, big question. Where do I start?" he huffs, to which she rolls her eyes, "You know how I mean it. We don't have to rush anything."

Because this here is that bit of odd perfection Brienne has been craving for in felt eternities, where it's just them, where it's just them and talking about things freely, without fears, or at least not so many, and even if so many indeed… not between them, just above them, below them, but not between them.

She feels like she can climb behind the wall behind his eyes for once, and Brienne wants to climb.

She is a good climber, she really is.

"I have to rush a lot, because I have a lot of catching up to do," Jaime argues.

Because Tyrion is right – he can't afford to lose her.

He needs Brienne more than that bloody hand.

He needs her to the point of crazy.

"No, now you get me all wrong. Jaime, you are not supposed to rush things. You are supposed to get used to this situation, we both are. You suffered a loss, we both went through something… _terrible_ … That takes time to deal with. And as I said, I will give you the time, I will give us the time," Brienne argues.

She just doesn't want to lose that flash of hope, because this is a step forward and she believes a step in the right direction at last.

One foot in front of the other, however dull the walk may thus be.

"I just want to be us again, like we used to be," Jaime admits feebly.

"We won't ever be like we used to be, I fear," Brienne grimaces.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs, defeat in his voice, pulling his shoulders down.

They can't go back to the almost carefree couple they were before all this happened.

They can't go back to the day where they first met, to the base camp in Wolfswood, Catelyn Stark rolling their eyes at them acting anything like the young adults they were back then.

Because it happened.

Because he lost the hand.

Because Brienne was ambushed the same way he was.

Because the last few months took place.

No matter how far Jaime leaps, that is the way he travelled, that is the way they both travelled.

There is no going back from that.

"What was your favourite date?" he asks after a while, his voice trailing off.

Because Jaime wants to hold on to that moment.

It feels like it's been ages since they talked like this.

And only now he realises just how much he missed this.

How much he missed being… them.

"What?" she frowns.

"Your favourite of our dates? I bet the first time in the shooting range," Jaime smiles softly.

"No," Brienne shakes her head with a small smile.

"What? I was certain about that one," Jaime makes a face.

Jaime can still remember the shine in her sapphire blue eyes when he switched the lights on in the range and let her shoot all she wanted, until they had no ammo left. Just like he can remember Brienne's almost dumbly happy smile she flashed at him after she proved to be about as much of a good shooter as he is, hopping up and down, even. And he remembers how he adored her for it.

"You remember how I had the rib fracture and bruised ribs? That was when we were only recently together," Brienne says, and Jaime nods slowly, "Yeah, I know that I wanted to rip the guy's windpipe out once I heard that you'd been injured during training by this dipshit because he didn't know how to use the baton properly, but did we really have a date by the time? You could barely move."

"Exactly. I mean, we'd only dated a few times, but after you learned about it, you were inside my apartment and wouldn't leave. You even took a few days off of work. I don't know how they ever let you get through with it," Brienne grins.

"I'm a good liar, you know that," Jaime says. "I made them believe that I was throwing up all over my place. You just have to be vivid enough in your explanations and flush the toilet repeatedly while on the phone."

"Aha... Anyways, we just laid in bed and nothing else… we didn't even talk… let alone kiss or do any other thing than watching a movie or eating… we just… laid there, I don't know. I liked that best," Brienne shrugs, her voice meek.

That was when Brienne, for the first time in her life, _physically_ felt the care radiating from someone else like the heat of his body. That Jaime needed to make sure that she was fine, that he needed to be inches from her to be certain. Slept next to her even though they hadn't slept with each other by the time. Slept next to her because he had to make sure that she was breathing fine, that she wouldn't just disappear.

That was the kind of closeness Brienne, up to meeting Jaime, had ruled out for herself, being the ugly thing that she is. But he undid those red markers over her list of things that wouldn't ever take place, things that people like Septa Roelle had busily added to the list, and scribbled his name all over the page.

"Well, it can't be my favourite because you got injured," Jaime chuckles.

"I got injured all the time, like you," Brienne snorts.

"Yeah, true again, but that one was painful," Jaime argues. "Rib injuries always are."

"It was… but I guess it's worth the pain if it heals," Brienne sighs.

Jaime licks his lips, getting the implication despite the fact that she says that she is no good at it.

He just wants this moment not to be lost by the gloom that still lingers above their heads.

"Then… how about you scoot over and we do what we did on your favourite not-date back then?" he suggests, gathering all of his fractured courage - to move forward, or even if not, closer to her.

He wants to hold on to something reaching beyond this night, a bit of tomorrow.

He wants to hold on to her.

Brienne flashes a small smile before she leans against him and Jaime wraps his arms around her, for once really forgetting that there is just one hand to hold her.

Neither one says a word.

They simply try to get used to each other again.

Try to be familiar again.


	11. Messed Up

**Author's Note:** Thanks for sticking around!

I needed a bit of... well, ugh, angsty fluff, so we get a bit of that with this chapter.

I hope you'll like it anyway ;)

* * *

"Well, I think it's good that we decided to stay home after all," Jaime grimaces, looking out the window as the storm rages outside.

Things _really_ improved lately.

At last.

Jaime stood true to his promise of trying harder. He limits himself to certain hours to watch TV and not to leave home – and went to see friends more often, even though that still leaves him with cold sweat most of the time because that is when he feels his stump itching most prominently. Social interaction is really difficult, because most people, despite their effort, keep looking at it, or don't know if he needs help with something, or if it's a touchy topic for him.

Jaime also started to work on his fitness again, to do something other than watching TV all day. And it actually gives him a better body feeling. He gets back in touch with the body he learned to hate ever since the incident, but the stronger his muscles become, the stronger he feels in turn, if only slightly.

But it's something.

Just like he and Brienne started _dating_ again, well, dating in the _broadest_ sense. At some point, going out for dinner in a restaurant in the evening still feels like a too fresh wound for both of them, and most of their shared hobbies no longer fit together that well because Jaime still has not the needed control for fighting, shooting, and the like.

So food-dates mostly consist of cooking at home, if not digging through takeaway, setting up a candle and calling it a candlelight date. And other dates are usually limited to going to the movies, seeing friends and showing up as a couple, and to both their apparent annoyance, _walks_ in bright daylight alone, because it makes them feel old for some reason.

Dating used to be a lot easier when it wasn't filled with implications and possible fears looming above them.

But anything is better than what they had up to the point that they started it again, and both hold on to that option quite desperately now.

So tonight, they had a food-date with chicken soup. Jaime is glad for anything you can eat with just a spoon, because that tends to make him forget that he uses the other hand. The tension slowly but surely dissolves, though it's still looming above them for many aspects of life, but they get back in tune with the people they were before their life was turned upside-down.

"Well, they gave the warning in the weather broadcast earlier the day," Brienne shrugs as she dries the bowels from dinner.

"But _that_ much?" Jaime makes a face. "We didn't have a storm that bad in _years_."

"Lamenting about it won't help. The storm will pass," Brienne shrugs.

"Yeah, well, I'm just so used to good weather. In Casterly Rock, it didn't rain until late autumn, and even then it was _just_ rain," Jaime makes a face.

"My Father called today," Brienne says, walking into the living room.

"How is he?" Jaime asks.

"He's good, well, he is worried. At some point it still surprises me that he didn't tell me to pack my bags and come back to Tarth when he came here after the incident," Brienne huffs.

"I'm glad he didn't," Jaime huffs. "It was hard enough to get you away from there in the first place."

"When I got to know you, I already lived here," Brienne argues.

"And still your dear Father always has the invisible hand above your head," Jaime argues.

"You tell me," Brienne snorts.

It feels really nice.

It feels almost normal in their odd sense again.

Jaime opens his mouth for a reply when suddenly the room goes completely dark. He lets out a groan, "I hate storms – because of _that_. Blackouts. Ugh. Okay, let's see about the distribution board, then… where did I put the damned torch again…?"

Jaime shuffles through the room to one of the kitchen drawers until he feels the familiar object in his left hand. He readjusts his grip and gladly manages to switch on the almost blue light with a single try – and without letting it crash to the ground in the process. He flings it around a bit as the light flickers, "I need to change the batteries for that thing."

He shakes it a few more times, and at last the flickering stops.

Jaime already means to go for the distribution board when he hears the smallest of squeals and then a soft thud.

"Brie? Did you stumble or so?" he asks, whirling the torch in her direction, well, at least where he expected her to stand, but there is just the sofa.

"Brienne?" he grimaces, stepping away from the kitchen counter – to find her sitting on the ground, back pressed against the back of the couch, knees drawn up, long arms hugging her shins.

"Are you alright?" Jaime questions, stepping closer to her, but she turns her head away.

And that is when it dawns on Jaime.

Slightly blue light.

A torch flickering around in the darkness…

He silently curses to himself as he covers the last bit of distance to come to stand right in front of her.

"This is ridiculous," he can hear her mutter, pressing her lips against her upper arm, muffling some of her voice, a habit she has ever since he got to know her, if not longer. She does that when she is particularly ashamed of something, looking so much younger than she is, like a child almost.

Jaime sits down opposite her, "Not more ridiculous than what I did ever since the mugging."

"I did nightshifts, alright? I handled torches when we went through the basement at work the other day, but the moment you flickered around with it, I just… I don't know," Brienne admits feebly. "I don't know how that even happened."

She never had that until now. Brienne was honestly positively surprised that she didn't have what the doctors warned her about. She didn't feel afraid in the dark, she wasn't afraid of sex, she had no panic attacks.

Well, until now, as it seems.

Because now her heart pounds in her ears. She trembles, and she would like to run up to bed, pull the covers over her head, and never come out again. That were if she had the strength to move her legs.

"Well, it's probably all factors playing together this time. It's dark. Then the torch… and me here," Jaime reasons.

"I feel stupid," she grunts, disappointed with herself.

Brienne was never afraid of the dark, and now she jumps for something like _this_?!

"There's no need to," Jaime argues in a soft voice.

"You should go check on the distribution board. This will surely pass in a minute, and likely the moment on we have light again," Brienne snorts bitterly, feeling pathetic.

Does he feel like that all the while?

By the Gods, maybe she was too demanding after all.

However, when Brienne dares to look at Jaime again, she finds him moving next to her, resting his back against the couch as well, reaching out with his left hand to pull her close to him, both illuminated in the shine of the blue light that he set on the ground to shine against the other wall.

And suddenly, the white-blue light is no longer that threatening.

Because blue is a calming colour.

"You don't have to comfort me, it's…," she means to say, but he cuts her off, "I have to and I want to."

Because this might be one of those moments to prove to her that he is her partner after all, who helps her like she helps him, even though it is considerably little what Jaime does.

"We're seemingly both messed up," Brienne sighs as he pulls her against his chest, finding solace in the heartbeat she can feel even through the layers of clothing and skin. It's like a metronome.

"Yeah, we're both still pretty messed up," Jaime exhales.

"Maybe I have to quit my job now. If I'm afraid in the dark," Brienne snorts sadly. Jaime kisses her on the temple, "You could cry like a madwoman and Renly would still give you a promotion, or a self-made medal with lots of glitter. In case you didn't know, you can do whatever you want there, because of him."

"I want to do my job right," she argues, the smallest of smiles returning to her face as her heartbeat starts to sync with his.

"And you do it righter than right," Jaime smiles, leaning his cheek against the side of her head. "You always did."

He has never seen someone that devoted to her job and her working place like Brienne. While Jaime prides, or now _prided_ himself with a strong work ethic despite the fact that he didn't like his colleagues, Brienne really put another level to it. Because she is not just devoted to her job, but to the people for whom she does that job. She always wants to do things in perfection, and not just to crave attention or to receive praise, but simply because she wants to prove everyone that she deserves to be there, that she deserves this job, that she works for it every single day.

"Well, we already said it, nothing is like it used to," Brienne sighs. "I get panic attacks if you wave with a white-blue torch around in the dark – and you have to cope with the loss of your hand. And here I thought _I_ was the one who'd be able to keep it up."

She is seemingly not as strong as she thought.

Or as strong as he thought she was.

"You did, believe me that much," Jaime argues. "But I guess I'm still good enough at holding you close. So why shouldn't you rely on me in that regard, hm?"

Because it's alright to rely on each other, or so he reckons, hopes.

Even if Jaime doesn't feel like he has much to offer yet, his body still fits about perfectly for her to sneak up against. They realised that very early on in their relationship. While they don't match in size, they fitted perfectly together when lying on the couch or the bed.

Her shoulder fits right in the space where his arm and his chest meet. Her chin fits perfectly in the dip between his collarbone and shoulder. Like that, they are two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.

"I trust you," she whispers into the darkness, not looking at him. And Jaime has to try his best to just go on running his arm up and down hers instead of crying out in laughter, in relief, or bursting out in tears.

Because he knows how much it means for Brienne to say that. Mean that.

That she trusts him despite all the things that happened lately.

That she trusts him when he failed to keep her safe and protected for an achingly long time.

That she trusts him to hold him in a situation of pure weakness.

"Are we just going to stay here in the dark?" she asks after a while, feeling a bit ridiculous at the fact that she starts to feel so stupidly comfortable like this.

"Do you want to get up?" he replies.

"Not really," Brienne shrugs against his shoulder.

"Then how about we make this a torchlight dinner?" he suggests.

"Sounds alright to me," Brienne smiles softly, daring to lean against him even more, listening to his heartbeat, his metronome.

Her metronome.

And Jaime dares to hold her close.

They are both messed up.

But they are here.

They both are.


	12. Remedy

Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around! And hugest sorry for the awfully long update time. Like seriously, I'm so sorry.

Special thanks to dearest coque and nightchild78 for the kind reviews!

My life's been a bit (big bit) of a mess. My mind's always a mess. Couple that with writer's block out of the handbook and you get an explosive concoction that is counterproductive to any sort of writing.

Anywho, I was in a bit of a struggle as to how to carry on with the task, and I eventually settled with what I had originally outlined. I'm a bit anxious about it still, and if it will pan out the way I intend it to, but I want to post some things in the hope that this will somehow maneuver me out of the deep depths of the writer's block.

*spoiler* don't like, don't read, or skip and return later: What I do with Cersei is not supposed to put her in that corner. I just use her as means to explore that theme, drawing on the fact that she is depicted as drinking more and more wine, so I found it a fitting applicant to run Jaime and Brienne through such a question and emotional roller-coaster. Cersei won't take center-stage in my fanfic from now on. She isn't in *severe* trouble, and I will make that clear with the next chapter another time, I just want to be straight about the matter.

I hope you'll enjoy anyway! :D

* * *

"At some point this looks like a spare parts depot for human leftovers," Jaime makes a face, scrolling down a page on the internet with a grimace.

"It's machines," Brienne argues, leaning over the back of the couch.

"I just imagine how the dude has them on a rack, and I'm supposed to choose one as though it was a new sweater or so," Jaime grimaces. "Here's your new hand, sir, do you need a bag for it or do you want to put it on right away?"

"This is no _I, Robot_ movie," she argues. "Those are high function prosthetics."

"I know," Jaime sighs.

He is still trying to get used to the idea of a prosthetic, already for Brienne's sake, but Jaime doubts that this will ever feel anything close to what his real hand felt like. And he is honest in that he finds this somehow outlandish, something from outer space, really.

At some point a hook seems more down to earth.

"Have you read about the myoelectric prosthetics? I thought those looked pretty… _realistic_?" she grimaces, trying her best to sound casual.

Because this is _not_ casual.

This is one huge step.

Brienne knows that Jaime is still unsure about prosthetics in whatever the way, and she was _that_ close to tears, yes, _tears_ , when he started to type it into google and didn't just flip through the brochures absently. He even mentioned it to his doctor the last time they were there for the check-up.

It's not that Brienne thinks he _needs_ that. If Jaime said he didn't want to have any so such thing, she would be the last one to call him upon it, for as long as he'd be happy with it, but she still sees the frustration on his face more than once, because a stump is no hand, however you want to twist or turn it. There are no fingers, and that complicates certain things that she honestly believes could be relieved in some way if Jaime had at least the option to put on a prosthetic if needed.

Jaime let her know that he feels useless because he cannot do certain things with his hand the way he is used to it, and Brienne understands that, but to her, there is just one logical consequence to help the matter, and that is to try out all options available and see what works best for him. However, Brienne learned the very hard way that they have differing views regarding these matters, and she tries her best not to force him into anything.

They made such good progress lately, they moved forward at last, and Brienne doesn't want that to stop now.

"May this be the right moment to confess that I always hated the _Terminator_ movies?" Jaime makes a face.

"My whole life has been a lie," she replies in a flatter voice than she intended. Because the problem is that she knows that Jaime is trying and that he tries to get acquainted with the idea, but then she sees him scrolling through the pages, making his nonsense jokes, and it feels like he is toying with the idea - and that only for her sake.

"I mean, what if it takes over my body and...," Jaime means to go on with the joke, but then swallows down the last bit of the comment. Jaime usually fares best joking about such matters, but when he looks at Brienne, he has to realize that she doesn't fare best with him joking about it by contrast. Because she thinks he is joking at the idea - when he is just trying to somehow gather himself (and the remains of his courage) to somehow step forward and ahead.

Sometimes he wished his coping mechanisms would work differently.

"You don't have to do this, you know that," she assures him quickly.

Maybe she got too far ahead of herself yet again - or rather, too far ahead of him.

"I know I don't have to," Jaime replies just as fast, and with as much sincerity as he can. Brienne licks her lips, trying to stay casual, however hard it may be. Jaime wrinkles his nose then, running his arm over the back of his head.

In fact he feels like he needs to – if only to show Brienne that he makes an effort.

He may not know if he really wants that robot-hand, but he knows he wants and needs Brienne.

"I think I want to try at least," Jaime goes on in a lighter tune. "If it's for nothing… well, I don't think I'll have to pay for it."

"Right, you can still give it back," Brienne shrugs, trying to ease back into the mood.

She knows that Jaime likes to joke about these things. It's what he always did, even before the ambush.

Just why is she so thin-skinned lately, right?

"Or throw it away," Jaime huffs.

"That would be a waste of material," Brienne argues.

"Yeah, alright. If I don't like it, I will give it back, or give it to charity, whatever. They'd surely make use of it somehow," Jaime sighs, looking at the screen again.

"That sounds more like it," she agrees.

"Oh, and by the way?" Jaime turns to her.

"Yes?" Brienne cocks an eyebrow at him.

"You don't get to work extra hours this weekened," Jaime says. "We will go to a Lannister family dinner, tomorrow evening, over at the family residence. We got a formal invitation this morning."

Brienne has been doing that a lot more frequently these past few weeks. It's normal for her to do extra hours every once in a while, but lately she also took shifts in the weekends, and at some point Jaime doens't know what to make of that. Does she just need a breather from him? This situation? Or is something else going on?

Because he thought they made some good progress since...

"Oh, Gods, no," Brienne grunts, burying her head in a couch pillow.

"It's lovely how well you and my family get along," Jaime huffs.

"Now you don't tell me that _you_ are excited about that," she snorts.

Brienne knows as a matter of fact that Jaime rather keeps away from his family for the most part, except for Tyrion. After all, he was the prodigious son who was supposed to take over the family business once Tywin Lannister retires. By choosing police officer as a profession, he certainly earned himself his father's disappointment – which Tywin makes no secret, whenever they meet up. Jaime once said to her that he always felt as though he had "fallen from grace" in his father's eyes, because Jaime didn't do what was expected of him, after he broke away from what the Lannister Empire Plan would have demanded from him.

So there is no way that Jaime wants to be there either.

" _No_ , I would rather have dental treatment without anesthesia than attend this get-together, _but_ … I have made myself rare long enough," Jaime shrugs. "I don't think we get around this one."

While he would rather just stay home and get used to the idea of a prosthetic, Jaime knows that he can't just cut off contact to his family. Jaime needs them and cares for them, despite all the things that happened in the past, but that doesn't mean Jaime likes being around them.

Especially now that he is even more of a disappointment in his father's eyes than he was ever since he turned down the position at the top of the family firm in favour of what Tywin always refers to as "a boy's foolish dream".

"That means I have to wear high heels… and jewellery, and make-up… and burn myself with the hair straightener…," she exhales. "And I have to wear a _dress_."

"Which is why I called dear Margaery after I got the formal invitation," Jaime goes on with a bit of spite in his grin.

"You did _not_ ," she narrows her eyes at him.

"She will be here later the day, from the shopping spree for you," Jaime replies.

"I hate you so much right now," Brienne grunts.

"You hate _shopping_ ," Jaime argues. "In fact, I was kind enough to spare you a shopping spree by assigning dear Margaery to the task. You should be grateful."

"I hate it even more when Margaery dresses me up. She is obsessive with clothes," Brienne mutters.

And for _some_ reason, Margaery loves to dress _her_ up, as though she was some kind of doll – because Brienne knows that she _isn't_ , and wouldn't ever want to be one. As a child, she got rid of whatever dolls her father gave her in less than a day, finding them too pretty to touch, let alone play with.

"But she has an excellent taste," Jaime insists.

"This is torture," Brienne growls.

"You are probably the only woman in the world who considers getting new, fancy dresses delivered right to her door 'torture'," Jaime chuckles softly.

Though that is how she has always been. Brienne hates shopping and dressing up with all her heart. Jaime remembers vaguely one time when they were still in an antagonistic relationship, and _clearly_ in denial. He dragged her to a shopping spree with a very cheap excuse he can't recall in detail anymore. Something about needing her to pick something out for a friend of his. Once she had begrudgingly agreed to the plan, Jaime forced her to try on things for him so he could pick something for his friend, stating that she and her friend, whom never existed, _obviously_ , had the same size. At first, it was all fun and tease to see her make a fool of herself, growling at him, tossing clothes at his head, constantly asking loudly why she ever came along, why she ever cared about him, why, why, _why_.

The fun somehow stopped when Brienne was supposed to try on a pink dress upon his choice, pretty much the grand finale, but then… as she came out of the changing room, Jaime feared she'd burst out in tears for a moment, really. Up to that point, their relationship had been all about teasing on his part and her knocking sense into him, but that was one of the few occasions where Brienne showered her more vulnerable side and Jaime realised that he played a truly cruel jape at her expenses, especially after she told him in a quieter voice that she couldn't just buy clothes because most things just never fitted right and that it made her feel even more freakish for her looks than she did anyways.

To somehow make his conscience stop kicking him in the arse, he took her to the gym thereafter, and let her take out all aggression and frustration on him.

After that, the pink dress was forgotten and left in the store for good.

So no, Brienne is not fond of shopping.

"I'd rather wear a tux than dresses. I hate them all equally," Brienne sighs.

"But it is expected," Jaime tilts his head to the side.

Brienne made the mistake _once_ to show up for a family dinner in no more than black dress jeans and a plain button-up shirt she bought in the men's department - because those usually fit best with her broad shoulders. She had all eyes on her for the rest of the evening, and just wanted to reduce herself to a puddle on the ground. Jaime would have warned her, but they only met up right in front of the residence because she had to work until then – and Brienne didn't understand that the implication of "dinner" automatically meant evening wear, something that was hammered into Jaime's brain since his early years, so he didn't know that she was not aware of that.

Ever since then, Brienne did what the Lannister etiquette demanded of her, and that was to wear dresses whenever she was over at the residence or invited to other festivities. Brienne hates dresses, but she hates stares even more.

"I know," she mewls.

"And you have nothing already used-up in the wardrobe anymore," Jaime goes on.

"You keep tabs on that, _really_?" she snorts.

"Someone has to," Jaime shrugs. "And since I'm stuck here most of the time, I am even more attentive of these things. What do you think does a man do all day long, alone at home?"

"Watch DVDs, drink beer, work out…," she shrugs. "Going through the girlfriend's closet is not on the list of things men do or ought to do when alone at home."

"You just listed all the things _you_ would like to do all day long, well, except for going through your closet. You'd have no idea how many clothes of yours have stains on or holes in them," Jaime teases.

At some point it feels really good to fall back into that routine. After everything was so hard over the past months, it's like ointment right on the skin to feel more like the people they were before this ambush.

Memories are light and delightful, and no longer dark echoes turned bitter in both their mouths.

"But _you_ do, so what does it matter?" she shrugs.

The doorbell rings, followed by a loud shriek.

"That's for you," Jaime smirks. Brienne punches him in the arm lightly as she gets up, "You keep going through the prosthetic pictures until you get used to the idea."

"Fine," he mutters.

"Fine," she retorts as she makes her way to the door.

"BRIE! Look at the clothes I got you!"

"Good day to you, too, I..."

"We shouldn't waste our time. You have to try on a whole lot."

"Please no."

"You will love them, I assure you."

"Margaery, I…"

"We don't have the time, Brie!"

Margaery pulls her over to the bedroom at once.

"I will make you pay for this."

Jaime waves as Brienne is pulled into the bedroom.

So now, back to the _Terminator_ parts depot…

Brienne nestles around with the hem of her dress. She chose the absolutely plainest outfit Margaery brought, which happened to be a navy blue satin dress with an Empire cut reaching down to her knees, a straight cut cleavage coupled with broad straps, giving her some security that she won't have to reorder the straps the whole evening, like she had to do with the dress with spaghetti straps she wore for the last New Year's Eve party. Gods, she hated the straps to the point that the whole dress didn't survive until the next day, after she threw it away without ceremony.

"Brienne, that dress won't eat you, so stop pinching it," she can hear Jaime say. Brienne tears her head around to him, "I hate it."

"Which is a pity, because it fits you well," Jaime argues.

"Whatever," she huffs.

"I _mean_ that," he insists, now without the smug smile.

While bickering grew to be a more integral part of their life again, Jaime knows that he still has a lot of reparation work to do when it comes to these things. He is by no means as smooth as he used to before the ambush. It's not just in the bed that he lost that edge, but also the compliments are now harder to bring to full bloom, because Brienne got so much sarcasm from him before that Jaime honestly gets it that she has a hard time accepting a compliment in all earnest.

"… Thanks," Brienne whispers.

"And in any case, I'm glad that you wear something so fancy, because that might draw attention away from my stump for at least ten seconds," Jaime goes on. She squeezes his lower arm, offering a gentle smile.

"I would rather be home now," Brienne grumbles, trying to change the topic.

Or at work.

Just not here.

"So would I, but… if the family calls, you have to answer," Jaime shrugs.

"Let's just get over with it," Brienne says before they reach the door of the Lannister Residence, a monument of its kind. High stone walls with marble lions sitting on the edges, stately towers, a vast garden and pool area, illuminated by flood lights, if only to cast a shadow that's even greater than this residence itself.

They are pulled in at once. Brienne always feels as though she is absorbed into a kind of black hole whenever she comes here, only to come out in another universe of red velvet and gold.

"Oh, Jaime! Brienne!" Tyrion is the first they get to see, and both are glad for it.

"Hey there, little brother. I see you already enjoy yourself alright?" Jaime grins, nodding at the obligatory glass of wine in Tyrion's hand. The younger man only gives it a shrug, "That is one of the few methods I have left to somehow make it through the night. Ah, Brienne. You look lovely, may I say?"

"Thank you," she replies politely as she bends down to give Tyrion a brief hug.

"Ah, and when I say it, she thinks I'm mocking her," Jaime snorts, winking at her. She rolls her eyes, fighting the faintest of blushes.

"In any case, you should be careful. The witch's also here," Tyrion says, gesticulating.

"Cersei?" Jaime grimaces. He somehow hoped to bypass a confrontation with her - after it was pretty _icy_ between them ever since the ambush, but then again, that was to be expected. If it's a formal invitation, you can be sure that there is a bigger entourage, and then it would be odd to exclude one of the Lannister heirs.

And if there is something Tywin Lannister cannot stand, then it is the knowledge that people might be talking about him and his Family Empire behind his back.

"Who else would I be referring to?" Tyrion snorts. "Oh, and she came with some _ominous_ man."

"You mean she found someone?" Jaime knits his eyebrows. As far as he knows, Cersei is single at present.

"That guy is surely twice as old as her – and not really her… _pattern of prey_ ," Tyrion makes a face."I just know that she came with him."

"Didn't you talk to him yet?" Jaime asks.

"No. I wanted to be sure to have a few drinks before getting over with that. You know my plan, till the day I die, there won't be a single family get-together that I will witness sober," the younger brother replies.

"That's the spirit," Jaime snorts.

"Speaking of the devil…," Tyrion mutters as Cersei and Tywin approach, before quickly ducking to the side to come to stand next and behind Brienne.

"Jaime."

"Father."

"Ms. Tarth."

"Mr. Lannister."

Jaime ignores it that his father still refuses to call Brienne by her first name – and that even though they know each other in a long time already. However, Brienne never really took offence in it, seemingly understanding that Tywin is a chip of the old block after all.

That is when Cersei snakes her arms around Jaime that he has to try hard not to flinch in surprise, "It's been far too long."

She looks at him surprisingly fondly, flashing a small smile over at Brienne, who only gives a curt nod.

"Oh, I almost forgot to introduce you. This is Dr. Qyburn," Cersei says, gesticulating at the man, who covers the last bit of distances to shake all their hands hastily, "A pleasure to meet you."

"And how do we come to this honour?" Jaime asks.

"He is my personal, let's say, health counsellor," Cersei replies.

"But why is he here for a family dinner? I don't mean that as an offence, Sir, I'm just curious," Jaime says.

"Oh, that's understandable," the "ominous" man replies.

"You will find out soon enough. I think dinner is about to start," Cersei says, whirling around at once, taking Qyburn along with her.

Jaime and Brienne exchange a look, irritation written over their features, but know better than to start a scene.

"So, Father," Jaime grimaces at the older man. "Will we finally learn the reason for this wonderful get-together?"

"Later," Tywin says. "For now, we will dine."

Jaime makes a face. Sometimes his father and sister really are alike.

What follows during dinner was all Jaime expected and didn't expect at all. He prepared himself for the glances at his stump, or how he fails at the main dishes of steak and the like. In contrast to Brienne, his family seems to care little about not embarrassing him with such foods, but then again, that was _all_ Jaime expected, really.

He didn't really prepare for just how much the glances bore into him, and how hard it is to keep up a smooth and aloof appearance to the guests, answering the same questions about his hand and the ambush again _and again_. Just like the fake empathy makes Jaime want to hurl, if not jump across the table.

One distant aunt of his actually starts to compare their case to how she was robbed of her purse in bright daylight when she wasn't paying attention, and the man just grabbed her pricey purse and made a run for it.

Because that is _exactly_ the same as almost being raped and losing your hand, _right_.

Jaime only realises the beads of sweat on his forehead when Brienne gives his arm a squeeze to force his eyes onto her sapphire blue ones. She leans closer to him so that no one except them can hear them, "Are you alright?"

"Splendid," he snorts. She narrows her eyes at him, but then says instead, "I don't know how you want to handle it. I can cut up the meat for you if you want, or I can try to get the, ugh, _waiter_ , instructed to bring one cut up? You just have to tell me."

"I think I'll just pass," Jaime says. "It's not like a twelve course meal will leave me starving."

"Okay," she replies meekly, turning back to her plate.

"Thanks for the offer, though," he adds quickly. Brienne gives a small smile before resuming to her own plate.

After the dinner ordeal is finally dealt with and the first guests actually disappear, to leave more of the core family, they find themselves in the spacious lounge area, just like Jaime finds himself in conversation with his father about his future.

 _Of course_.

The _one_ topic…

"… I think that now the time has come that you finally join the family business. Now that your time at the police is obviously over, you need a new perspective," he can hear Tywin say. Jaime tears his head to him, unblinkingly, "And the only perspective I have in your opinion is to join the family company?"

"It might be a good time to do that," Tywin shrugs.

"Because I'm a cripple now and can't get myself another job, a real job that isn't financed by my father, you mean?" he huffs, not caring if he is making a scene now, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Tywin, though he knows better to contain his anger, "Because you have followed that dream of yours in a long while. And now after this happened…"

"Reality called and was supposed to wake me up?" Jaime jumps in angrily. "This was no idée fixe, Father. I was a police officer with all my heart, and if not for my apparent inability to fulfil the task now, I would still be just this."

"Ever the more a reason to consider something else now. It's as you say. This is no longer an option for you," Tywin argues. "It might be the best solution."

"For _you_ surely. Nothing has changed about the fact that I don't _want_ to work the job you want me to have. I don't want to run a company. And in any case, I'm still young enough to build up something for myself. I don't know _what_ yet, but since we happen to be so rich, I don't think my missing salary will be of any concern presently, will it?" Jaime retorts. "Or is this a subtle way of yours to put the screws on me that if I don't obey your wishes, you'll cut off my money supply?"

"You're overreacting, Jaime," Tywin sighs.

"I think I react about just right to the accusation that my former job was worth nothing and that my father means to threaten to cut off my money supply like others retain the pocket money from their children in case they don't behave as it is required of them. In case you did not notice until now, I am an adult who can make his own decisions concerning his profession, his lifestyle, his life," Jaime argues vehemently.

"You are being overly dramatic. I did not threaten you, in fact I offered you something," Tywin replies with a sigh.

Jaime feels his wrists clenching, yes, _both_ of them, because he can feel his right hand all the way up to the fingertips at this moment, invisible nails digging into his invisible palm. Pain spreads like invisible blood.

Because this is not about being inattentive about his needs or sparing him embarrassment, it's about belittling the one thing other than Brienne he prides himself with as an achievement of his own.

"Uhm, Father, I think Jaime makes a good point when he says that he may start something for himself. Maybe his own investigation or security firm. We've talked about this the other day, and I find the idea very good indeed," Tyrion jumps in with a swift lie. After all, they never talked about an investigation firm up to this point, but the Seven may bless him for coming up with that to give Jaime's argument more solid ground against their Father.

You can always count on him, Jaime knows.

"My first son as a private investigator? I don't think so," Tywin snorts.

"It is an idea," Tyrion argues, but Jaime can't focus too much on his brother's attempts of guarding him. He is too focused on the pain spreading in his ghost hand, in his arm, his bloody stump.

He is burning.

He is on fire.

"But maybe he could do something for the security in _your_ company? I mean, I work as the security manager for Renly Baratheon, maybe Jaime could do something of the like for your firm as well? You handle so much money, you are in need of protection after all and Jaime is an expert in the field…," Jaime can hear Brienne argue, her voice levelled, almost peaceable.

The Gods may bless her, too.

And damn his father.

"You are aware that this is not necessarily the position I want to see my first son fulfil," Tywin argues in a cool manner. Brienne bites her lower lip, well aware of the small stab aimed at her, for having such a position and being proud of it.

"Isn't it about what would make Jaime happy?" she argues anyway. While she manages to keep her voice sweet, Jaime knows that it hurts, already due to the pressure he can feel on his lower arm as she holds on to him.

"If we all did what would make us happy, I would have a son who'd only drink all day, and visit the brothels of the city, a daughter who would only look at herself in the mirror, and a son who would probably rather play with a sword if he had one than do anything substantial. There is business, there is family, and then there are personal wishes. One should not make the mistake to mix up either one," Tywin tells her.

"How kind of you," Tyrion snorts.

"I, I need some fresh air," Jaime declares, no longer able to deal with the soaring fire in his arm, the thump-thump-thump inside his head. He gets to his feet swift enough, feeling Brienne's hand slip from him, though her eyes don't leave him, "Do you want me to come along or…?"

"I need a moment to myself, if that's alright," he mutters back as he leans down to give her a quick kiss on the temple.

"Alright."

"Jaime, we…" Tywin means to say, but Jaime quickly interrupts him, "Are done for now, yes, thanks. I need some fresh air. I wouldn't want to be such a disgrace of a son to end up staining the pricey carpet with my vomit, because I may tell you that I am pretty sick, of all this here."

With that he just leaves for outside.

"So? Anyone watched _Game of Crowns_ and can update me on who died last episode?" Tyrion jumps in.

Jaime makes his way outside in a hurry, trying to control his breathing. He had that before, those bloody phantom pains. The doctor warned him, Brienne soothed him through them, and Jaime is just sick of them.

There is no hand, so stop trying to hurt him with it, body.

Jaime finds that flaring up especially when agitated, and this _surely_ agitated him. For a moment he is tempted to call out to Brienne after all, because she is the one thing that always calms him, she is his rock, but he decides against it, feeling too humiliated right now. Just like he knows that people will talk behind her back the moment she hurries after him, and Jaime wants to spare her that as well.

He remembers too many instances when both went away for a moment (if only for a quick passionate kiss), and once they returned, they knew at an instant that they had been the topic of choice as the others present looked up and stopped talking. Jaime also remembers how tightly he had to hold her hand during these moments, because that is something that still gets right under Brienne's freckled skin.

They will keep their mouth shut for as long as she is there, so it's probably for the best if he figures this one out himself.

Jaime walks along the line of the swimming pool, a monstrosity of its kind, but everything in the Lannister household has to be epically big, epically out of proportions, ornamented, pretty, golden, bloody perfect, if only at the surface.

"Jaime?"

He whirls his head around to find Cersei on one of the sunbeds, smoking a cigarette. She left shortly after dinner, he knows. At some point, Jaime had honestly hoped that she just took off without saying goodbye. Because Cersei is just the _last_ person he needs around right now. He simply wants to focus on getting his anger and pain in check. And that woman never served as an ointment for either one.

"You know, if you want to tan, I think you have a bad timing," he says, trying his best not to let the strain resonate in his voice.

"Are you alright?" she asks. "Maybe you want to sit down?"

She pats on the sunbed. Jaime tries hard not to snort, though he knows that arguing won't help much either, since his knees are shaking like they did last winter when he forgot to take his coat along and froze his arse off in the breeze. So he decides to sit down on the sunbed next to hers. Valid enough.

"So? What are you doing here, sunbathing in the moonlight?" Jaime asks, trying harder and harder to control his ragged breathing.

"You know that Father doesn't like it to have people smoking. It could harm the furniture," she snorts, breathing white smoke into the air. "Phantom pains?"

"What's it to you?" he huffs.

Because Cersei made herself _more_ than rare ever since he lost his hand. After he was released from hospital, he saw nothing of her. While Jaime was personally glad for it, one could expect a little more effort from one's _sister_ , especially one who used to insist that they were each a half of a whole, who said that she loved him more than anything else in the world.

To say it once more, it's not that Jaime needs or wants it. What was between them ended before it escalated into the chaos he fears would have come about, had they stuck to what they did, but he simply expected her to make an _attempt_. Because Cersei would always do that once in a while. No great plotting or so, just teasing, pointing in that direction, in a playful manner.

Though Jaime definitely won't change his mind back in that direction – ever again, and he reckons the same is true for Cersei. She just likes to tease, already for the sole reason that she is not too fond of Brienne.

"What's it to me when my brother has phantom pains? Oh, I don't know, you tell me," she retorts, sounding offended."Where is your partner anyway? Shouldn't she be _with_ you?"

Jaime narrows his eyes at her at once.

"You'll leave Brienne out of this right from the start. I don't want to hear a word from you concerning her, is that understood? Brienne is the one person who stood by my side, so don't you even dare to make an attempt to somehow downplay this or act as the heroine now. I told her to stay inside," Jaime growls as another wave of pain crushes over his head.

"Whatever," she shrugs her shoulders, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Just because I'm not around doesn't mean I don't care."

"I know that," Jaime argues, inhaling deeply to somehow get his pain in check, but it's no help.

He knows Cersei - and she cares about people in different ways. He knows her. But he won't let her insult Brienne, easy as that, because that is something she should know by now as well.

"Do you?" she huffs.

"You won't get me to apologize to you right now, if that's what you are trying, alright?" he grunts.

"I don't give anything much on apologies," she replies.

No great surprise right there either, Jaime reminds himself. Other people may have apologized for not showing up during one's twin's hardest time thus far, but... Cersei really doesn't give anything on apologies, that's the plain truth.

"I was on quite a few business trips around Westeros lately," she goes on in a casual voice that makes him angrier than it should. He knows that this is what she always does, it's just that her timing couldn't be worse than it is right at this second.

"So I was told," Jaime brings out, feeling the beads of sweat running down his forehead. "Is that where you dug up your 'plus one'?"

"In fact," she replies, suddenly gazing to the side. Jaime can hear footsteps approaching. When he manages to tear his gaze around, he can see this Qyburn-person standing next to them.

"I told you that he is a doctor, right?" she says, gesturing at the man.

"A doctor who doesn't practice, I fear," Jaime knits his eyebrows. "If he is your personal health counsellor."

"I am a doctor, but I don't have a licence anymore," Qyburn replies. "I use the time for my research."

"Of course," Jaime snorts, closing his eyes as the fire keeps consuming his phantom hand. " _Research_."

"He may have something to help you nevertheless," Cersei insists.

"Now don't tell me you come to have some funny potion that will grow back my hand," Jaime huffs, and the older man replies, "I fear not, Sir, but I can relieve the pain, no bother."

"You should listen to him. He can work _miracles_ ," Cersei says.

"Since you suffer through _so_ much physical pain," Jaime rolls his eyes.

"He helps me in other matters," she shrugs as Qyburn produces some pills and syringes out of his jacket.

"And I reckon this is not necessarily legal, hm?" Jaime makes a face.

"It's not illegal," she replies.

"Yet?" he huffs.

Both Cersei and Tyrion are into drinking more than they maybe should, and he knows as a matter of fact that Cersei and certain substances made each other's acquaintance during her times abroad when their father forced her to attend a girls-only boarding school during her earlier teenager years – after their nanny had seen them doing some things they shouldn't have, as siblings. Though Jaime was given the same treatment, for the record, having been sent to a boys-only boarding school likewise, he gave these things a wide berth.

Though Jaime actually grew fond of that place soon, being with boys of his age, making friends, having people around him other than his family. That kept his mind away from other dangerous places, or so he reckons.

Once he found out about Cersei's _escapades_ , if you will, he called her upon it, and that stuck.

Well, until now, or so it seems.

"I think I will pass," Jaime makes a face as the man approaches, blinking furiously as his muscles contract unnaturally more. This is a really bad wave. With incredibly bad timing, too.

"I assure you, it's nothing dangerous. I work with natural ingredients," Qyburn argues.

"That's right. It's all natural," Cersei tells him, now almost cooing. "You don't have to feel that pain, you know?"

"Did you have something already or why are you so laid-back?" Jaime makes a face, watching Cersei as she keeps blowing smoke into the night's air like little clouds. " _Cersei_?"

She leans back on the sunbed, folding her long legs elegantly.

" _Cersei_ ," Jaime demands.

"Relax. I didn't take _that_ stuff, but Qyburn has something that is great to relieve one's stress," she sighs. "And he could do the same for you, no bother. You don't have to go through that pain, Jaime. You don't have to do anything. No matter what Father may have to say, because I bet that he just gave you the talk about the Family Empire yet again. As he always does. You can forget the rest, you see?"

"While I tend to agree with you when it comes the Family Empire, I don't think that _forgetting the rest_ is best achieved by shooting myself to the moon," Jaime argues vehemently, still trying to process the situation, fighting any urge not to toss Qyburn into the pool behind him, but his stump hurts to the point that he wants to jump straight ahead into the pool as well, if only to douse some of that flame burning within him. "Now all natural and eco-friendly or not."

"Sir, I can assure you that this works well to help with such intense pains as you must suffer them. I have had patients with similar problems and the results were more than satisfactory," Qyburn argues, etching closer again.

"I don't want that stuff, thank you, so if you backed off, thank you _very_ much," Jaime says, gritting his teeth. He wants to get up and go, but his feet won't move.

This pain is paralysing.

Damn.

"Even if you don't want to take it, I can only recommend to you that you have to try to relax. Tension only makes it worse," the doctor without licence says.

"I'm afraid of needles, so maybe that's one source of my _tension_ ," Jaime says.

"It is very effective," the man argues.

"So is that why you brought him along? Did you anticipate that I'd get a shoot of phantom pain or what?" Jaime turns to Cersei.

" _No_ , I just meant to introduce you to him. It was mentioned to me that you suffered from those pains," Cersei replies, sounding rather truthful. "Though this just proves my point. This is something that needs relief, Jaime. You don't have to put yourself through that."

"It's funny how almost everyone tries to tell me what I'm supposed to do these days," Jaime grunts as lightning explodes inside his head and he has to lean back on the sunbed.

"Jaime, listen to reason. He can help you," Cersei argues.

"I don't want your help or his!" Jaime retorts through pursed lips, fearing that he will end up biting his lip bloody.

"You can help yourself," his sister argues.

"Maybe you should just try it, Sir," Qyburn says, biting his lower lip, holding the things out to him again. Jaime takes a hold of the man's wrist, opening his mouth to say some nasty thing, but that is when he hears his name.

"Are you not listening to me or what's the matter? Take that away," Jaime argues.

"I'm trying to help," Cersei argues.

"Just that this is not at all helpful," Jaime huffs.

"If she had suggested it, you'd be all up for it, I'm sure," she snorts, now sounding offended.

Of course she is feeling offended.

Sometimes Jaime wonders how she manages to always make this about herself again.

"I appreciate your help, but I don't want it. There is a difference, Cersei, and I'm past the point to care how this may, perhaps, hurt your feelings. I won't take that stuff just to make you feel better or so," Jaime brings out, white flashes of light dancing before his eyes.

"Whatever," she exhales. "I'm trying to make you feel better, but yeah, sure, I'm being an egoist for it."

"I didn't say that. Could we just not have that conversation just now?" he growls low in his throat.

"Sir, if you…," Qyburn means to say, but Jaime cuts him off harshly, "Be quick about it and put it away! I…"

Jaime whips his head around to see Brienne standing there with wide eyes, breathing hard, her sapphire blue eyes unnaturally shining from the pool water.

For a moment, he fears she'll just burst out in tears, but then she sets her jaw and strides forward a few steps, "What the Seven Hells is this here?"

However, she doesn't even wait for an answer once she sees the syringes, but turns around to stomp away. She fears that she might strangle all of them.

And what a scandal _that_ would be…

"Brienne!" Jaime calls after he, struggling to get his body upright, gritting his teeth, but then turns around to Cersei and Qyburn, his face as dark as night itself.

That was one too many.

Before Qyburn can even comprehend, Jaime grabbed the case from his hands and tossed it into the pool. The man just looks as the case sinks to the bottom of the pool, his mouth standing wide open.

"Sorry, my hand slipped," Jaime snarls, but then turns his attention to Cersei, who blinks at him. Jaime makes another step over to her, pointing his finger at her as he hisses, "You will _never_ do that again, _sister_ , or else I will make it my personal obligation to let everyone know what you seemingly like to take to shoot yourself to the moon, or whatever it is that you let him make for you. I will let that slip _once_. The next time, I will call police to see about this fucker here, _and_ I will tell Father. And _no_ , I'm not kidding. This is _no_ empty threat. I _will_ do that. So don't give me a reason to follow through with it, because I will."

He looks at his twin sister sternly, who is seemingly really caught off-guard by Jaime's outburst.

"We had this before. You have to look better after yourself – because right now, I can't focus on your problems as well. I have enough of my own. And I'm honestly done playing bodyguard for you, Seven Hells. The next time I see something like that, it's over between us, trust me in this," Jaime threatens, honestly not knowing what else to say to make her understand that _this_ is definitely _not_ the way.

"I gotta find Brienne. Thanks for nothing," he huffs, pushing past Qyburn roughly.

"Jaime," Cersei attempts to say, but her brother cuts her off before she gets a chance to, "Just let me go."

He whirls around and walks away.

Cersei turns to Qyburn, crossing her arms over her chest, "Someone has to get that case out of the pool, and you can rest assured that it won't be me."

"Ma'am?"

"You either get a net really fast or you'll have to go for a dive. So?"

Jaime jogs down the vast garden, trying his best to ignore his burning anger for his sister and her plus-one, feeling the pain in his limb slowly subsiding, trying to spot Brienne.

That is really the last thing they need in an already fractured, complicated, starting-to-mend relationship that they have at this point.

A surge of panic hits him once he is through the garden and still no sign of her, but then he hears high heels on pavement. One should never underestimate how fast Brienne can walk in these shoes if she wants to. Jaime speeds up a bit to make his way driveway.

"Brienne! Brie! Wait up, please!"

But of course she keeps walking, arms folded over her chest.

"Do you want to walk all the way back to the apartment, _really_?" Jaime tries with a grimace.

"If I have to," she replies stubbornly.

 _Of course_.

And Jaime _knows_ she would.

"Brienne, please. I know what this looked like, but that wasn't at all it," Jaime tries. At that, Brienne turns around on the heel, looking at him grimly, "So it wasn't that you were trying drugs from your sister and this ominous doctor? _Interesting_ , because that is _exactly_ what it looked like."

"Cersei offered it, but I didn't take it," Jaime argues. "You know she sometimes gets those crazy ideas, it's…"

"Just because you didn't take it doesn't mean you didn't want it," Brienne retorts harshly.

And she feels like a fool for believing that… that something had really changed.

"You know, I have been _really_ patient, I think. I have taken all this crap because you've taken all this crap. I thought that we were finally on the right course again – and then it turns out that you now want to escape into _drugs_ next? _Really_?!"

She thought he was done running away…

"No, you know that I even refuse strong medication at the hospital if I can help it. I don't want to take substances. Brienne, you know me, c'mon," Jaime argues.

She knows him. She is one of the few people who do.

"I know what this looked like, but I was just about to thrust his hand away when you showed up. I told them that I would get them into prison if I saw that one more time."

"Why didn't you go away?" Brienne demands.

"Because I could hardly stand thanks to the stupid phantom pains. I would have taken off at an instant, had my feet worked properly. I just wanted to calm down and get my pain in check, but then the two showed up and wriggled that shit around. I wouldn't ever do that. You _have_ to believe me," Jaime insists. "You have to _trust_ me."

Brienne bites her lower lip. She knows that Jaime doesn't say that easily. Not after all they have been through over the past few months.

"You have to trust me," he repeats. "I know that I gave you _many_ reasons before not to, but… but on this one, you can. I won't ever do that. _Ever_."

This is not about trusting him to hold her when the lights go out.

This is about trusting him that he is no longer the man who tried to drown himself in a bloody bathtub, who was done with all of this here, who was all about running away.

And if this is supposed to work, then she has to trust him this much, however much it may hurt.

"You have to trust me. You have to. You just have to."

Brienne studies him for a long moment before her broad shoulders drop slightly, suddenly looking about as weary as he probably does.

"I just want to go home," she sighs at last.

"I hope we can debate on letting the chauffeur take us. I don't want to ruin those shoes. Those were expensive," Jaime jokes uncertainly, wanting to resolve some of the tension lying in the cold night's air.

"I don't fancy more blisters either," Brienne grimaces peaceably, nodding at her high heels.

Jaime steps over to her to grasp her hand and pulls her back to the residence. He smiles softly as he feels her squeezing his hand back.

Before, those gestures were normal things, natural, things that went unnoticed most of the time, but now they hold perhaps more power than they ever did.

"How is it with the pain now?" Brienne asks. "Are you alright?"

Jaime stops for a moment, blinks, then turns to her with a lopsided smile, "In fact, ever since chasing after you, it's gone. You know what that means?"

"Physical exercise is a way to control phantom pains?" she makes a face. Jaime laughs out loud, but then turns to look at her again before he leans in to give her a chaste kiss, "No, it means you are. You make me forget my pain."

His remedy.

Brienne blinks, a faint blush creeping up her pale, freckled cheeks, unconsciously tightening her grip on his hand. Jaime flashes a small, tired smile. It's odd, really, that something as small as this compliment is (and however awkward it may seem to other people), grows to be so important these days. Because Jaime realizes again and again that he really has to try harder to make Brienne believe him again. While it's clear that she was and is certain of his love for her, Jaime can't blame her for struggling with accepting these words after he gave her just the opposite for so long.

In a way, he has to win her back. Or no, he knows she won't leave him, she promised him, but he still has a lot of mending to do so that those things are maybe not less important, but more natural again. Because that is what they should be, between themselves.

They get the chauffeur to drive them home without bidding the rest of the family farewell, though Brienne sent Tyrion a text message to let him know. After all, he was their one support that night. The ride itself is silent, though neither one let go of the other's hand ever since they linked.

"Home sweet home," Jaime grunts once they are inside the apartment. "I feel just like after running a marathon."

Whenever he comes back from the Lannister residence to their apartment, Jaime realises just how much he loves this place, and not just since it grew his cave after the ambush, but even before that day. Because it's not clinical. It's their place to be. They have personal clubber, pictures from photo booths Jaime always took great pleasure to force Brienne into, only to make grimaces and stupid faces. Favourite books lie around. The rooms smell of what was cooked in the morning, of Brienne's shampoo, the washing powder they use for the pillows. There are no things you aren't allowed to touch, no pricey possessions that are so valuable that they are surrounded by an invisible aura to keep you away, the way he's known it growing up in the Lannister Residence. Look but don't touch. Don't ever get too close.

But not so here.

Here, they can get close.

This is their home. It's their place. It's them.

He can feel Brienne's hand squeezing his once before she lets go, manoeuvring into the bedroom, "I need to change out of these clothes, and these shoes foremost."

Jaime follows her wordlessly, also wanting to change out of these clothes. Brienne is really quick about it to step out of her dress and change into shorts and a tank top, just like Jaime can see from the corner of his eyes how her shoulders seem to ease once she is in comfortable wear again. Her shoulders seem even a bit broader then, as though she spread her wings.

She runs her fingers through her hair to shake out the stickiness from the tons of hairspray as she turns around to Jaime wordlessly, seeing him struggling with the button-up shirt.

"They should make decent-looking ones with zippers," he huffs as she works on the small buttons, a soft smile tugging at her broad lips.

"Hm, maybe a new marketing idea?" she replies.

"Fashion is not my cup of tea, I fear," he huffs. "I mean, I like wearing it, but I don't want to produce it. Though that may make Father happier than my recent choices when it comes to my profession."

"But it is _your_ decision. You are an adult. You can make your own decisions," she argues.

That is something she has to accept as well, or so she reckons. He has to make his own choices, not just on the job, but this night also showed her that he has to make the right choices, and that she can't make them for him.

"Well, I'm an adult who also lives on the family's wealthy's expenses," he chuckles softly.

"Even if he cut your money supply, it wouldn't change anything," Brienne argues, now looking at him, her fingers still holding on to the shirt. "You know that I never wanted or needed riches."

"No, I know," he grins. "But it might be that we'd have to make some arrangements, then."

"Then so we will. I actually liked Tyrion's idea a lot," Brienne says before going on to work on the buttons.

"Yeah, the little man should have brought it up sooner," Jaime grins. "But maybe that might be just the right amount of defiance mixed with actual purpose. But if that happens, you'd obviously have to… lend me a hand?"

"Seriously?" she huffs at his pun, though she is honestly glad for it that this comes out with the bitterness that was omnipresent all the while before whenever he made a statement about missing a hand.

Jaime winks at her, "What? You know how to run such a thing, or at least something similar. And I'd need a few able men and women to help me launch such a project."

"Which is to say that I'm supposed to do all the hard work and you'll sit back and claim it yours?" Brienne huffs.

"You finally grasped the overall concept," he chuckles. Brienne finishes the last button as she says in a softer voice, "Whatever you want to do in that direction, you know that I'll support you, right?"

"Yeah, I know, even if I sometimes don't know how you do it," he says, nudging the shirt off, glad that he wears a white undershirt underneath, so he won't have to bother about that now, too.

"Magic," she snorts. "Though I'm still mad at you. You should've let me come with you. Then this wouldn't have happened."

"Yeah, yeah, I see it now, too. And I should've walked away the first moment I came face-to-face with her, but… well, we can't change it anymore. I'm sorry that I gave you that scare, but I won't ever do that. And the next time I catch Cersei pulling something like this, it will have consequences, I assure you," Jaime says.

"Alright," she replies, daring to trust his words. "We should have an eye on her, then. Or else she'll land herself in big trouble."

"Seriously?" he grimaces. Just like Cersei is not fond of Brienne, Brienne's not fond of her either.

"She's your sister. She's family," Brienne replies simply.

She may not like Cersei, but she accepts her because she is part of Jaime's family. And the way Brienne understands family, it means that you take responsibility for each other. Since Cersei belongs to Jaime's family and Jaime belongs to her family, that means she also has responsibility for Cersei – at least that is the way she understands it. Even if Cersei Lannister proves to be a difficult case because she doesn't let anyone close, especially Brienne.

"She's a goddamn adult, well, she should be," he exhales. "She's the oldest, for Gods' sake."

"Only by a few minutes," Brienne reminds him. "Some people just need… more help than others, I suppose."

"She can be a tough, absolutely professional businesswoman one day, and the next she is just a walking disaster," Jaime exhales.

"Ever the more a reason to make sure this doesn't escalate. You said she doesn't seem to be too… much into this yet. So if you keep having an eye on her and we get some information on that Qyburn person, we might prevent further harm before it escalates into a total disaster," Brienne argues. "I'll see about that man. I'm sure I can get some information, and even if not, Tyrion's always a good address for these matters."

"Right," he exhales. "The dear family… you hate them most of the time, but you can't escape them."

"That's the way it goes," Brienne shrugs.

"You really have a kind of magic," he grins, cupping her chin with his left hand to tilt her head up to his face to kiss her. Brienne smiles against his lips softly, savouring the intimacy of the moment, the memories of the fear she had deep in her chest when she saw the scene by the pool bleeding out of her as the warmth of his body presses against her.

Though Brienne has a vague idea where that "magic" comes from.

She wouldn't ever put up with all that if it wasn't for Jaime.

So the answer is just as easy: It's him.

"I vote for not leaving the apartment at all tomorrow," Jaime chuckles.

"I can agree to that," Brienne smiles softly.

A holiday at home after a family dinner at the Lannister residence is always a good medication to help some of that pain.

Both allow themselves to sink down on the mattress, holding each other close, holding each other's hand.

Serving as each other's remedy.


End file.
